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Bv ELIZABETH K. TOMPKINS. 


Her Majesty. A Romance of To-day. Hudson 
Library. i2mo, paper, 50c.; cloth, $1.00. 

An Unlessoned Girl. A Story of School Life. With 
frontispiece, i2mo, $1.25. 


G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 

New York and London 





























































































































41 


l l 


IT *8 ALL RIGHT,” HE CALLED OUT, 


YOU >RE TO GO TO SCHOOL AT MISS HEALEY’S.” PAGE. 31 



An Unlessoned Girl 


A STORY OF SCHOOL LIFE 



ELIZABETH KNIGHT TOMPKINS 

If 

AUTHOR OF “ HER MAJESTY,” ETC. 







/ 


G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 

NEW YORK LONDON 

27 WEST TWENTY-THIRD ST. 24 BEDFORD ST., STRAND 

®Ije iMteherbocher |1ress 

1895 



Copyright, 1895 
BY 

G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 


Ube TRnfcfeerbocbcr iprcss, IWew JlJorfc 


CONTENTS. 

i 


Chapter 

I. TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS 

II. AN EXPERIMENT . 

III. “ A CHANGE OF SKY ” . 

IV. THE OTHER LOUISE 

V. AN INSPIRATION . 

VI. A TRIUMPH .... 

VII. A SLEIGH-RIDE IN THE PARK 

VIII. MARGY GETS INTO TROUBLE 

IX. — LOUISE FINDS OUT THE TRUTH 

X. THE SUMMER VACATION 

XI. — SCHOOL AGAIN . 

/ 

XII. ONE SUNDAY NIGHT 

XIII. A REAL TROUBLE 

XIV. A GLEAM OF HOPE 

XV. ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL 


Page 

I 

16 

39 

6 3 

83 

104 

I2 5 

1 44 

1 63 
183 

206 

225 

242 

266 

289 





AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


CHAPTER I. 

TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS. 


— An unlesson’d girl, unschool’d, unpractised ; 
Happy in this, she is not yet so old 
But she may learn.” 


“T SUPPOSE it is no use asking you to 
have dinner at night while Ted is here, 
Mother ? ” 

“ I should think we had said enough on that 
subject, Margy. Once for all, it is unreason- 
able to expect a servant of all work in a house 
the size of ours to get a late dinner.” 

“ Since Eliza has to get dinner anyway, I 
don’t see what difference it makes to her 
whether she gets it at one or at six. She 
never goes out evenings.” 

“ It does make a great difference, as I have 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


told you more than once. How would you 
like it if you had to begin to study and recite 
your lessons in the afternoon, and were not 
let off till bedtime ? But we won’t discuss it 
any more. I wish you would learn that when 
I say no, I mean it.” 

“ Anyway, won’t you have the tomatoes a 
separate course and not with everything else ? 
You might just as well have everything cooked 
in the same pot to save trouble. That ’s the 
one thing we seem to live for, to save Eliza 
trouble, when it ought to be her business to 
save us.” 

“ If she were to leave, you ’d find out 
whether she did or not.” 

“ But the tomatoes, Mother ? It can’t 
make any difference, as we have it on separate 
plates anyway.” 

“It does, however. Every time she clears 
the table is just so much extra work. Be- 
sides, when you raise your standard of living, 
it makes so much more work for somebody. 
It is ridiculous for people of our means to try 
to live like those who have twice as much. 
I wish you had more sense of the fitness of 
things, Margy. It worries me that you think 
so much more of the trimming than of the 
material of which the dress is made,” 


TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS. 


3 


“ I might have known she would run in a 
lecture,” Margy said to herself, under her 
breath. She did not often dare to be openly 
impertinent to her mother, though she came 
as near it as she could. 

“ Mother would like the Indian’s idea of a 
dinner party, — succotash,” she said petulantly 
to her sister Louise, a few minutes later. 

“ If the succotash were the best of its kind, 
she would,” Louise answered. “ She thinks 
having things good is much more important 
than having a lot of different kinds, and I 
agree with her myself.” 

“ You are a regular politician, Louise. You 
always side with those who are in authority. 
I would n’t have as little independence as you 
for anything.” 

“ It is a great deal better than always com- 
plaining and making a fuss about everything 
we have to do. I don’t believe Alys Morgan 
has things so very much better at her house, 
if the truth were known.” 

“ She certainly has some little idea of what 
is what, and some ambition not to be old- 
fashioned and countrified. If you and Mother 
had your way, you would make this summer’s 
gowns just like last summer’s, and never 
change the way you do your hair from one 


4 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


years end to the other. It was perfectly ridic- 
ulous your having that white embroidery 
guimpe and those skimpy sleeves to your blue 
gingham, but you would have them.” 

“ But, Margy, you know they were already 
made and hardly worn at all, and it saved 
Mother so much trouble,” 

“What’s trouble, compared to looking 
well ? ” 

“ Your own trouble, perhaps, but not some- 
body else’s.” This was unanswerable, so 
Margy thought it better to hurry off to dress. 
Louise was only fifteen, a year younger than 
she was, but Margy sometimes felt as if she 
were much older. Half an hour later, she 
came downstairs and out on the back porch 
where her mother was shelling peas. 

“Why don’t you let Eliza do that?” she 
asked. 

“ Eliza has quite enough to do,” Mrs. Brooks 
answered shortly. Margy sat down on the 
rail of the porch, prepared for an argument. 

“ It ’s my experience,” she began authorita- 
tively, “ that the more yo.u help servants, the 
less they do. Now Eliza is a perfectly strong, 
able-bodied woman, and you treat her as if she 
were a piece of cracked china.” 

“ Where have you had this experience ? It 


TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS. 


5 


must have been in your sleep ; for you have 
never been away from home more than two 
days at a time in your life. Here, Margy, 
shell the rest of these peas, or I sha’n’t be 
ready when Ted comes.” 

“Can’t Eliza? I ’ve just manicured my 
nails, and I ’d muss my clean gown by put- 
ting that bowl in my lap.” 

“ I wish you to do it. There is always 
some excuse whenever I ask you to do any- 
thing. Louise does twice as much as you do. 
I should think you would be ashamed.” Mrs. 
Brooks spoke so decidedly that Margy did 
not dare to dispute, but she looked as unwill- 
ing as she could. Her mother took no notice 
of her reluctance, however, but put the bowl 
in her lap and the basket beside her, and 
went in to dress. Margy sat there, her face 
like a thunder cloud, taking one pea at a time 
out of the pod. 

“It isn’t that I mind the work,” she said 
to Louise, who had come out to help her, for 
Eliza was getting impatient for her peas. 
“ It ’s the idea of it. It ’s perfectly ridicu- 
lous that Eliza can’t do everything of this 
sort. I am sure we save her enough, making 
the beds, and sweeping our rooms, and dust- 
ing the parlor and dining-room. Oh, dear ! 


6 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


I don’t see why we can’t have things like 
other people ! It ’s bad enough to be poor, 
without making things unnecessarily hard for 
yourself. Why, the Morgans have only one 
girl, and Alys never does a blessed thing but 
make her own bed.” 

“Yes; but you forget that their house is 
not a quarter the size of ours. Then, they 
put the washing out. Alys told me they did.” 

“ Oh, I don’t care what they do ! I wish 
you would agree with me for once, Louise, 
instead of always arguing. You never begin 
a sentence without a but.” 

“ And you never finish a sentence without 
a complaint of some kind or other.” 

“Well, I am sure I have enough to com- 
plain of. It is hard enough lines to be tied 
to this poky old town and to have to wear 
ugly old clothes, when you know you could 
appear as well and dress as well as anybody 
if you only had a ghost of a show. Why, 
Mrs. Morgan says she is sure I could go out 
into society in New York, and nobody could 
tell I had n’t been brought up there, in the 
swim, all my life. There is nothing like a 
faculty for picking up things. I never go 
down-town without getting an idea for doing 
my hair, or trimming a dress, or something.” 


TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS. 


1 


“ Yes ; but there are ideas and ideas, ” Lou- 
ise protested. 

“ Another but! How do you know that 
my ideas are not the right kind ? ” 

“ And how do you know that they are ? ” 

“ Well, if you noticed the fashions, you ’d 
see that they were. Why, Alys Morgan al- 
ways asks me how she shall have her dresses 
made now, and when I first knew her it was 
she who told me. Oh, dear me ! Who would 
ever dream that you and I were sisters ! You 
are just like Mother, and neither of you have 
a particle of taste. It will take me a long 
time to forget how Mother made me get my 
blue serge at a dollar a yard, when there was 
that lovely embroidered cashmere at seventy- 
five cents ! I never can see why people are 
always calling her such a good manager. Blue 
serge is so common ! Every shop-girl has a 
dress of it ! ” 

“ But— another but, Margy — blue serge 
wears better than anything else for the same 
price. Mother said that cashmere was coarse 
and cheap-looking, and that it would be drag- 
gled and dirty in a month, while the blue 
serge looks well now. Besides, it was n’t 
warm enough for winter.” 

“ I don’t believe it would have. I should 


$ AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 

have worn it carefully.. Then, I think there 
is no surer way to catch cold and to make 
yourself delicate than to wear too warm 
clothes. The cashmere would have been a 
clear saving of twenty-five cents a yard, and 
then it would have trimmed itself, while the 
serge had braid on it.” 

“ It would have looked perfectly well with- 
out the braid, only you would have it.” 

“ Dear me ! I believe you and Mother 
would like me to wear a gunny-sack, with 
holes for my arms.” 

“ What Mother and I both hate is cheap 
finery ; and it is quite as much a surprise to 
me as to you that we are so unlike. I don’t 
see where you get your ideas, — or rather I 
do : it is from that silly Alys Morgan and her 
sillier mother. Any one could see that Mrs. 
Morgan, for all her finery, was of humble ori- 
gin, while no matter how shabby Mother 
looks, it is quite evident her parents and 
grandparents were refined, educated people. 
I suppose I ought not to blame Alys Morgan 
for not being a thoroughbred, since it takes 
more than one generation to accomplish that, 
but I can’t forgive her and her mother for 
ruining you. The idea of that woman ’s tell- 
ing you you were too pretty to do household 


TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS. 


9 


drudgery ! It makes me furious every time I 
think of it. Then, how you can endure a 
woman who talks about things being ‘ dressy,’ 
I can’t conceive. You used to be more par- 
ticular than I about such things.” 

“ One has to have a little companionship and 
sympathy in this world. I am sure I need it 
badly enough with all the taking down I get at 
home. Anybody would think you were years 
older than I, to see the way you lecture me. 
It is I that ought to be lecturing you. I am 
perfectly astonished at myself to see the way 
I take it, — like a lamb.” 

“ I had n’t noticed that,” said Louise, with 
a little laugh. To her surprise, Margy laughed 
too, having talked away her ill-humor. 

“ Oh, dear, it ’s too warm to argue/’ she said. 
“ I don’t see what it has to be so hot for. 
There isn’t any reason in it.” The girls had 
finished the peas some time before, and were 
sitting on the front steps, waiting for their 
cousin Ted to arrive. It was several years since 
they had seen him, — not since his Freshman 
year at college, when he had spent the sum- 
mer vacation with them. All his vacations 
since had been spent abroad with the uncle 
with whom he lived. After graduation, he had 
studied for some time in Germany. Now he 


10 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


had come home to live ; and before settling 
down, he was coming out to make them a visit. 
“ I don’t see how I could have let so many 
years go by without seeing you,” he had writ- 
ten to his aunt. “ I feel I have been very neg- 
ligent and ungrateful, considering how long 
you took care of a forlorn little orphan. I 
suppose the children are children no longer. I 
hope Margy is as enterprising as she was the 
last time I visited you. I shall never forget 
what a game little sport she was.” Mrs. Brooks 
had been reading this letter aloud to the girls ; 
but she stopped at this point to say : 

“ I am afraid he will be very much disap- 
pointed in you, Margy. He was always so 
sure you would make a fine woman.” For a 
wonder, Margy made no answer to this speech, 
but smiled a little smile to herself. She did 
not think Ted would be disappointed. Indeed, 
she confidently expected he would be agree- 
ably surprised to find so sophisticated a cousin 
as the product of a little country town. Then, 
she had been only an ordinarily good-looking 
little girl ; but now, she was a very pretty big 
one. He would probably expect to find her 
very green and countrified, and she smiled to 
herself again with satisfaction. 

The satisfaction was not so great when she 


TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS. 


ii 


went to bed the night of his arrival. Ted had 
not seemed impressed as she had expected him 
to be. In fact, he had paid more attention to 
Louise than to herself, and Louise was not 
even pretty. “ She is not half so clever as I 
am, either,” Margy reflected, “and she looks 
very dowdy in that old-fashioned gown.” It 
was certainly incomprehensible. In her con- 
versation with Mrs. Morgan and Alys, she had 
dwelt so much on the partiality Ted had always 
had for her. She had even told Alys she must 
not expect to see so much of her the next 
fortnight, as Ted would probably want her to 
go around with him. And now, she began to 
be a little anxious for fear her predictions 
would not be fulfilled. Perhaps he felt a little 
shy at finding her so grown up. No : even 
girlish vanity, which stops at little, could not 
believe this. Ted was anything but shy. He 
was more at his ease than any man she had 
ever met. She wondered if it would have any 
effect to give him a hint about the open ad- 
miration Will Archer and some of the other 
boys showed her. Some men were that way, 
she knew : they could not see attractions for 
themselves, unless the direction of some other 
man’s eyes called their attention to them. 

As she made this reflection, Margy stopped 


12 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


before her closet door and gazed, candle in 
hand, at the collection of articles pinned upon 
it. There were programs of the dancing- 
school parties, with many colored cords and 
tassels, filled full and criss-crossed with names ; 
there were mottoes out of candies, faded flow- 
ers, sleigh-bells, a glove, the sole of a tennis 
shoe, tissue-paper caps by the dozen, valen- 
tines, bought and written ; there was a colony 
of calling cards, photographs, tintypes, invi- 
tations, incomprehensible jokes, and a miscel- 
laneous collection of other articles. As she 
gazed at this, Margy’s face relaxed into a 
smile. Ted certainly would not consider her 
a child if he saw this door. The coarse Swiss 
muslin that draped the bureau, in defiance of 
the fact that its maker never intended it to be 
draped, was decorated in much the same way. 
The looking-glass was so taken up with calling 
cards, tintypes, and invitations stuck in the 
frame, that Margy could see only part of her 
hair when she was doing it up. All these ar- 
ticles would have been the better for a little 
dusting. She was still looking at the closet 
door when her mother came in. It was one 
of Margy’s many grievances that she never 
knocked. 

“ I want to speak to you, Margy,” she said. 


TRIALS ANT TRIBULATIONS . 


*3 

“ Well,” Margy answered crossly, knowing 
a lecture was in store for her. They often be- 
gan this way. 

“ I wish you would be less affected, at least 
while your cousin Ted is here,” Mrs. Brooks 
began without any introduction. “ I was mor- 
tified to death at the English accent you tried 
to put on the word very. I suppose it was 
English, as it certainly was n’t good American. 
And then, if you are going to be elegant in 
your as , I wish you would be consistent 
about it. I saw Ted smile to himself when 
you said it was half past ten. Why can’t you 
be more natural ? I can tell you I felt proud 
of Louise : she appeared so well beside you, 
and she has n’t half your natural advantages. 
She is so simple, and direct, and lady-like, 
without any of the manner you put on ; and 
although she is never brilliant, everything she 
says shows unusual good sense.’ 

“ Oh, Louise is a paragon. I know that 
only too well. It is too much to expect me to 
equal anything so perfect,” Margy answered 
impertinently. “ But I don’t know that all the 
criticism and annoyance are on your side,” she 
went on. “ I am sure I am mortified enough at 
those hideous earrings you will persist in wear- 
ing, and at your talking to Ted about ‘young 


14 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


gentlemen.’ He will think we live in the 
ark.” 

“ Being impertinent will not improve my 
opinion of you, nor Ted’s either. He has 
never known a mother himself, so he has the 
silly, old-fashioned notion that mothers should 
be treated with respect. I only hope you will 
not live to repent your continual disrespect 
after I have gone where my imperfections can 
no longer annoy you.” 

With this parting shot, Mrs. Brooks left the 
room. Margy sat down on the edge of the 
bed and sighed. Then she wept a little, from 
mixed motives, in which anger predominated. 
She was especially angry at what she called 
the old-fashionedness, — the unpardonable sin, 
to her, — of her mother’s doing the heavy pa- 
thetic. She knew that the lecture was due to 
an accumulation of grievances. Her verys and 
as alone would probably have been allowed to 
pass unchallenged. The last straw had been 
some remark she had made about Scott’s nov- 
els. Mrs. Brooks had made an allusion to one 
of them, as she frequently did ; and Margy 
had seized the opportunity of making some 
disparaging remarks, intended to show her 
advanced intellectual attitude. Nobody read 
Scott now-a-days but old fogies. He was stu- 


TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS. 


i5 


pid and uninteresting, and you found very little 
to pay you for the amount you had to wade 
through. His heroines were colorless abstrac- 
tions. You were told they were charming, but 
never felt it for yourself. He gave you false 
ideas of history, and, at the same time, bored 
you to death. This was very unwise in Margy, 
as it was certain to annoy her mother ; but, 
perhaps, this was why she did it. They had 
had so many set-tos on the subject that Mrs. 
Brooks had become sensitive, and took any 
disparagement of her favorite author as a per- 
sonal insult. Indeed, she could not understand 
that Margy did not really care for him ; but 
considered her abuse as a contrariness assumed 
to make her angry. It certainly had that effect. 

“ Oh, dear,” sighed Margy, as she got into 
bed at last, “ I suppose Mother will be injured 
and cool to me for several days, and it did n’t 
do any good. She can’t learn anything new. I 
suppose she will admire Scott, and wear ear- 
rings, and talk about ‘young gentlemen,’ and do 
the heavy pathetic to the end of the chapter, 
and Louise is just as bad. She does ’nt wear 
earrings, I am happy to say. She probably 
would if she had any, though, just to annoy 
me. Oh, dear!” 


CHAPTER II. 


AN EXPERIMENT. 

T ED’S visit was a disappointment to 
Margy in many ways. He was per- 
fectly friendly with her, — Ted could 
not have been anything else, but all the old- 
time good-fellowship had gone. He spent 
most of his time boating on the river and play- 
ing tennis with a couple of Harvard friends, 
who lived just outside the little town and were 
now home for the vacation. Several times, 
he got a carriage from the livery stable, and 
took them all driving : but Margy saw almost 
nothing of him alone. She was mortified that 
he never offered to introduce his college 
friends to her, although she had always been 
anxious to know them ; — the Murrays were 
the big people of the little town — and yet 
took pains to have them meet her mother one 
afternoon when she was at Alys Morgan’s. 
Altogether she felt slighted and unhappy, — 
16 


AN EXPERIMENT. 


i7 


it was all so different from the visit she had 
looked forward to. The afternoon before he 
left, she felt so badly that she lay down on 
her bed and cried. 

“What is the matter, Margy? You look 
so woe-begone,” Ted asked, as she came to 
the supper-table with pink eyelids. 

“ I ’ve got a headache,” Margy answered 
sullenly. 

“ It seems to me you have a headache or 
a backache all the time,” said her mother. 
“ Something must be the matter with you. 
I ’ll have to give you a tonic.” 

“ I ’ll tell you what ’s the matter with you, 
Margy,” began Ted. “You don’t take enough 
exercise. No girl in the world could be well 
who sits around as you do. Why, you never 
take any at all except a walk down-town, or 
to Miss Morgan’s and back. A month of it 
would make an invalid of me, and I am as 
strong as they make them. If you were to 
take some good vigorous exercise every day 
and a cold bath after it, you would soon be 
a different girl.” 

“ I ’ve preached that at Margy until I am 
tired,” said Mrs. Brooks, “and it doesn’t do 
an atom of good. She insists she gets enough 
because she is on her feet for an hour or two 


1 8 AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 

every morning. That is no real exercise for 
a strong, vigorous girl.” 

“ I hate exercise,” said Margy, pettishly. “ I 
don’t believe it would make me feel any better, 
and if it did, I ’d rather feel badly than be al- 
ways taking care of my health. Besides, I 
have read lots of places that exercise taken 
from a sense of duty never does you any real 
good.” 

“ Lack of exercise is what makes you so 
nervous,” her mother went on. “You are not 
naturally nervous at all ; but now you start 
and scream at sudden noises, and are afraid 
when the horses shy.” 

“ Oh, do let my health alone,” protested 
Margy. “ It’s too bad if I can’t have a head- 
ache without having a lecture too ! ” As she 
said this, she began to cry again, and getting 
up from the table, went to her own room, 
leaving her supper untouched. Half an hour 
later, as she was sitting on the floor by her 
open window, her head on her arms, she heard 
a knock at her door, and Ted’s voice asked if 
he might come in. He had a little tray in his 
hands. 

“ I thought I’d bring you some supper,” he 
said in a kind, affectionate tone, quite different 
from the one he had heretofore used to her. 


AN EXPERIMENT. 


19 


“It will make your head better. Here are 
some blackberries, and Eliza made you some 
fresh tea and toast.” He sat down on the 
chair by the window, and put the tray on his 
knees. Margy raised her tear-stained face 
from the window-sill, for once indifferent to her 
personal appearance. 

“You are very kind,” she said, as she took 
her tea and a piece of toast. Ted talked to 
her while she eat, telling her about the tennis 
he had that day with the Murrays, about his 
student days at Heidelberg, and about what 
he proposed to do when he went back to town. 
He would have to live at his uncle’s, although 
he thought it would be better for his profes- 
sional career if he lived somewhere else. 
Luxurious living unfitted a man for working 
hard, as he meant to do. Still, his uncle 
would not hear of any other plan. 

When Margy had finished her last black- 
berry, he set the tray down on the floor and 
said : 

“Now, what is it, Margy? What is the 
matter?” His manner was so kind and sym- 
pathetic that Margy nearly cried again. She 
controlled herself, however, and answered, 
being only too glad to pour forth her troubles 
without further invitation : 


20 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


“ I don’t know. Everybody is so hateful. 
Mother does nothing but find fault with me 
and lecture me from morning till night. She 
would like me to be like Louise, who is always 
contented, and never longs for new clothes 
and fun and all sorts of things that other girls 
have. Mother thinks it is happiness to live in 
a pretty place like this, and to have enough to 
eat and wear. She cannot understand my 
being bored to death most of the time, and 
thinks all I need is to make occupation for 
myself. As if I could ever be contented sew- 
ing for the guild, and doing old-fashioned 
fancy work, as Louise is ! She likes to cook 
and all that sort of thing, and I can’t bear it. 
The things they spend their time over don’t 
seem to me worth while doing.” Margy 
stopped to wipe away a couple of tears, and 
then went on: “The truth is, Ted, I am a 
round peg in a square hole. Mother and 
Louise wonder why I go to the Morgans’ so 
much ; but it is such a relief to get out of an 
atmosphere of continual disapproval. The 
worst of it is, that I disapprove of Mother and 
her ways of doing things quite as much as she 
does of mine ; and just because she is my 
mother, I can’t retaliate, and if I do, it is dis- 
respect, and she is n’t decent to me for days. 


AN EXPERIMENT. 


21 


No possible power could make me think 
Mother was right ! Why, she treats me like a 
child, and I am sixteen years old. She ac- 
tually sends me to bed if I sit up after half 
past nine, and buys my clothes, and tells me 
what dresses to wear, and makes me change 
my dress after church ! She tells me not to 
eat things at the table, too. And she has n’t 
a particle of taste, and thinks it does n’t matter 
about things being pretty ! Just look at this 
house! Did you ever see anything uglier? 
And if I want to ask a friend or two to a meal, 
she says I can do it if I want to, but do I 
think the pleasure will pay for the extra 
trouble and expense? Of course, I don’t want 
to after that. Then, there are always objec- 
tions to anything I want to do, and after all, 
the only ground for them is that Mother, at 
her age, does not want to do the things I want 
to at mine. And Mother won’t let me go 
anywhere with any of the boys, and she always 
stayed in the parlor when they came here, so 
that they don’t come any more. Why, I had 
the hardest work to get her to let me go to 
the dancing-school parties last winter,” and 
Margy paused for lack of breath to go on. 

“ I think she is in the right about that,” 
said Ted. “You always like to know what 


22 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


the correct thing is, Margy ; and, you know, 
in the city, girls in school never go out at all, 
or receive young men ; and if they should, it 
would be thought very funny if their mother 
did not stay in the room. There will be 
enough time for that sort of thing when you 
are older. In regard to the other things, what 
do you think of going away from home for a 
while ? A little absence is often the best cure 
for difficulties ; and I think both you and Aunt 
Margaret would be happier apart for the 
present. Besides, it would give you a chance 
to distinguish between a desire for your best 
good and unkindness.” This last was not said 
severely, but in the manner of one stating a 
simple fact. 

“ There is no place for me to go,” said Margy, 
sadly. 

“ Well, I have a plan in my head which I 
am going to talk over with your mother. 
Don’t go to bed for a while. If she agrees, I 
will come back and tell you ; and if I don’t, 
you ’ll know I could n’t work it. No : I won’t 
tell you what it is. Perhaps it would have 
been wiser not to say this much.” 

Ted went out the open door and down the 
stairs. Presently Louise came up. 

“ Are you there, Margy ? ” she asked. 


AN EXPERIMENT. 


23 


“ Mother sent me away : she and Ted wanted 
to talk. I was just thinking of bringing you 
some supper, but Ted said he was going to. 
He was so funny trying to decide what ought 
to go on the tray. How ’s your head ? ” 

“ It ’s better, thank you,” said Margy. 
“Would you mind taking the tray down, 
Louise ? ” Louise took the tray away, and 
Margy sat there by the open window, feeling 
considerably happier than she had done for a 
long time. There was a sense of power about 
Ted, a feeling that he could accomplish what- 
ever he set out to do, that impressed every one 
who knew him. She felt sure that her cause 
would not suffer in his hands. 

In the meanwhile, Ted and Mrs. Brooks 
were talking in the parlor downstairs ; or rather 
Ted was talking, and his aunt listening. 

“ I think, Aunt Margaret,” he was saying, 
“ I think you are forgetting that Margy is 
growing up. You still treat her like a little 
girl, and she is too independent to stand it. 
I never knew a strong character yet that was 
not a rebel under restraint. I don’t say that 
it is right it should be so.” 

“But, my dear Ted, you don’t understand. 
She is not fit to guide herself. Why, take 
the matter of my buying her clothes, which is 


24 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


one of our chief bones of contention. She 
thinks she knows it all, and she does n’t know 
anything. She would buy tawdry, flimsy gar- 
ments that she could never wear more than a 
few times, and I could n’t afford to buy her 
new ones. I sent her to get herself a pair of 
school shoes, a little while ago, and she came 
home with kid, patent-leather tipped shoes, 
with paper soles and the highest of French 
heels. She wore them home, so I could n’t 
make her change them. They looked decent 
about six weeks, and never looked anything 
but inappropriate. Then, the last time she 
bought herself gloves, she got a pair of white 
ones with black stitching, perfectly useless and 
ridiculous for a girl of her means. She has 
no idea of the fitness of things !” 

“ The only way she will ever learn is by 
her own experience ; she is too proud to take 
anybody’s else.” 

“Yes: that is all very well to say, but I 
can’t afford the process. To tell the truth, 
Ted, I am perfectly discouraged. I give it 
up. I have made a failure. I have less than 
no influence over Margy. The fact that I 
prefer one course of action is just enough to 
make her do the opposite.” 

“ Well then, Aunt Margaret, if you acknowl- 


AN EXPERIMENT. 


2 5 


edge your failure, you ought to be the more 
willing to try the plan I have to propose to 
you. You know Louise Meredith goes to Miss 
Healey’s school in New York. Now, I want 
you to send Margy there. Don’t say a word, 
please, till I have finished. There is the 
money for the two years and a half you took 
care of me — not that any money would ever 
pay you for it. I want you to let me pay 
Margy’s board and tuition at Miss Healey’s 
for two years. I shall always feel uncomfort- 
able about it unless you do. I want her to 
enter the class preparing for Vassar to try for 
the scholarship the school offers. You see, 
some rich woman, a classmate of Miss Healey’s, 
wanted to give a scholarship to the college, 
and she thought she would help Miss Healey 
at the same time, by limiting it to her pupils. 
The scholarship will be vacant two years from 
now. I know how clever Margy is at her 
books, and if she should chance to get it, it 
would be the making of her in every way, 
besides fitting her to take care of herself if 
necessary.” 

“ It is very good in you to make this offer, 
Ted, but I do not know that it would be a 
good thing for Margy. Her ideas are toploft- 
ical enough now, and associating with New 


2 6 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


York girls and seeing wealthy ways of doing 
things would not make her less so.” 

“ But, Aunt Margaret, it would, at least, 
give her the proper sort of ideals to strain 
after. If she is going to aspire at all, it is 
surely better that she should aspire to some- 
thing better worth attaining than the fashions 
and somebodies of a little country town. With 
her faculty for observation, she will soon learn 
the difference between good and bad form, 
which, I must say, she is not very clear about 
now. Another good thing would be that she 
would know Louise, and her influence would be 
good for any girl.” 

“ Oh, I don’t know what to do,” sighed Mrs. 
Brooks. “ I had such hopes of Margy when 
she was a little girl. I never dreamed she 
would turn out selfish, vain, idle, self-opinion- 
ated, irritable, and so contrary and disagree- 
able that there is no comfort living with her. 
Miss Green, her teacher, said she has not done 
so well in her studies this last year. You 
know she boarded with us last winter, and she 
was always urging me to send Margy away 
somewhere. I wish she were in town now, for 
I should like to hear what she would think of 
this.” 

“ Hasn’t she any influence over Margy ?” 


AN EXPERIMENT. 


27 


asked Ted. “ You said no one had any, — for 
her good.” 

“ Unfortunately, she is very ugly, and dresses 
in the most outlandish way. Even I cannot 
help criticising her clothes. Then, she has 
certain personal peculiarities, such as a nervous 
laugh, which blind Margy to her many excel- 
lences. She often says that she would admire 
and like Miss Green greatly if she were only 
put in a different exterior. That is the reason 
why, with her unusual abilities, she teaches in 
a little country school. Margy is n’t very nice 
to her, I regret to say.” 

“ Margy has lots of good in her,” Ted went 
on, following a previous train of thought. 
“ Just at present she is in a transition period, 
and that is always disagreeable in either girl 
or boy, — a period when it makes you furious 
to be told to do a thing, and yet you are incap- 
able of running yourself. I can tell you all 
about it. Uncle John and I came to blows 
my Sophomore year at college. Finally, he 
washed his hands of me, and then, for the first 
time, I began to amount to something.” 

They argued for some time longer, and just 
when Ted was beginning to despair of con- 
vincing his aunt, the door bell rang, and Lou- 
ise brought in a small, extremely ugly young 


28 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


woman, with a face like a parrot’s. She was 
dressed in a gown made of pink cheesecloth, 
and had a coarse lace scarf on her head. 

“ I am spending the night at the Millers, 
and I could n’t go home without seeing how 
you all were,” she explained to Mrs. Brooks 
with a little nervous giggle. 

“ I was just wishing to see you,” said Mrs. 
Brooks, after Louise had gone, and she had 
introduced Ted. 

“That is pleasant,” and Miss Green giggled 
again. “ What can I do for you ? ” 

“ My nephew has a plan for Margy that I 
want your advice about. Tell it to Miss Green, 
Ted. I treat Louise the same way, and I 
don’t notice any such disagreeable develop- 
ments in her,” she added when Ted had set 
forth all the advantages of his scheme. 

“ That is just it,” began Miss Green, who 
had evidently considered the subject, and was 
familiar with the facts beforehand. “ You are 
always expecting Margy to be like Louise, and 
are disappointed that she is n’t. Louise is a 
dear sweet unselfish girl, with lots of good 
sense, but she has n’t an atom of imagination, 
and Margy has an unusual amount. Louise 
would be just as sweet and contented where- 
ever her lines happened to fall. The employ- 


AN EXPERIMENT. 


*9 

ments and amusements of a country town satisfy 
her completely. Some day, she will probably 
marry the village doctor or clergyman, and 
have a tranquil, peaceful life. Nothing will 
ever make her ecstatically happy, nothing 
wretchedly miserable. She will be an unin- 
teresting woman, though a very good one. 
Now Margy, when she has got over the storm 
and stress period, will be brilliant ; and she 
will get over it, if you take Mr. Meredith’s ad- 
vice. If she stays here, she will be a soured, 
dissatisfied woman, a comfort to nobody. You 
and she are in an antagonistic attitude, and 
neither of you see the other’s good points. 
One of Margy’s is her fondness for animals 
and little children. See how fond they are of 
her. I was in Adams’ Drug store the other 
day, and I saw her stop and pick up a little 
girl who had fallen down and broken her doll 
in the street outside. You would not have 
believed it was Margy talking to that child. 
She was as simple and unaffected as the Margy 
I used to teach. The child was heart-broken ; 
but Margy comforted her by promising to buy 
a new head and sew it on for her.” 

“ Yes,” Ted added, “and see how she fusses 
over old Billy. She changes the straw in his 
kennel and bathes his sore foot, and you know 


30 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL . 


how she hates all that sort of thing. The old 
fellow worships the ground she walks on.” 

“ She is quite popular at school,” Miss Green 
went on, “ and you may be sure she would not 
be if there were not good reason for it. School 
girls are quick in determining what predomi- 
nates in each other. Now, I don’t for a mo- 
ment say that Margy is right in her attitude 
toward you. Indeed, I think she is inexcusable 
at times : still, if you will pardon my saying 
so, I think you might conciliate her a little 
more. You can’t help seeing how it annoys 
her to have Eliza call her Margy, and speak to 
her as if she were about ten, or her own sister. 
I heard her say once last winter : ‘ Here, Margy, 
look sharp there. If you ain’t the good-for- 
nothingest creatur’ when it comes to cookin’ ! ’ 
Now, no girl of any spirit would like being 
talked to so by a servant, even if she is a good, 
faithful one that has been with you for years. 
Margy is sensitive, and it is the little annoy- 
ances like this that keep her in a constant state 
of irritation and rebellion. As for her affec- 
tation, she will get over that soon enough, when 
she gets among girls who consider it bad taste 
to be anything but simple and natural.” 

Ted listened to this speech in a state of 
amazed wonder at the contrast between Miss 


AN EXPERIMENT. 


3i 


Green’s manner and appearance and the pene- 
tration and good sense of her words. Her 
arguments were so convincing that Mrs. Brooks 
at length consented to let Margy go. Ted ran 
upstairs, two steps at a time, leaving Miss 
Green talking with his aunt. Margy was still 
at the window, in a chair this time. 

“ It ’s all right,” he called out. “ You ’re to 
go to school at Miss Healey’s, where Louise 
Meredith goes.” 

“ But how began Margy, wonderingly. 

“ It ’s all right,” Ted interrupted. “ I have 
persuaded your mother that now is the time 
to take that money I have owed her so long. 
You know she promised to take it when I was 
sent to her. It lifts a great load off my mind. 
I confess, though, that I don’t think I should 
have succeeded if Miss Green had not come 
in. Aunt Margaret evidently swears by her 
opinions,” he added after Margy had asked 
all the questions she could think of. 

“ Is that old jay downstairs? I thought I 
heard the door bell.” 

‘‘You would be ashamed to speak of her 
that way if you heard what she said of you.” 

“ Oh, I know what she is. She has n’t a 
small or a mean thing about her. I might 
kick her down stairs, and she would tell every 


32 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


one what very pretty feet I had. She is mag- 
nanimity personified. I can’t b£ar her, all the 
same. Her laugh alone makes me crazy. It 
was bad enough to endure her at school, but 
when it came to having her board here — She 
is one of our pet subjects to quarrel about. 
It made mother angry that I did n’t stay more 
in the room where she was.” 

“ She is rather awful,” Ted admitted, 
“ though I almost forgot it when I heard her 
talk. Her soul is too fine for her body. I 
guess that ’s what ’s the matter. And now, 
Margy, you have n’t had a lecture for so long, 
that I am going to give you one to see how it 
feels. I have taken the responsibility of this 
step on my own shoulders, and I want it to 
turn out well for my own credit, if for no other 
reason. Aunt Margaret thinks it will give you 
elevated ideas ; but I think it will make you 
reasonable and sensible. And there are two 
things I want you to do for me in return for 
the energy and breath I have spent in your 
behalf. You are obliged to take exercise at 
school, so I need n’t bother about that. The 
first is to try to be as simple and as natural as 
you can. Don’t think too much about it — that 
is a bad thing ; but, once in a while, take five 
minutes and consider whether you talk in your 


AN EXPERIMENT. 


33 


natural voice, whether you pronounce words 
in a faddy way, and whether you say things 
without thought of effect.” 

“ All right,” said Margy. “ I ’ll try. What 
else, Ted ? ” 

“ Then, I want you to cure yourself of com- 
plaining and finding fault. I don’t want you 
to be silly about it, but if you have a headache 
or a backache or any other kind of ache, don’t 
speak of it until you are sure it is not some- 
thing you will have forgotten five minutes 
later. Then, don’t grumble at the weather, 
no matter if it is cold, or hot, or windy, or 
rainy, and don’t complain of your food. Try 
and forget yourself as much as possible. I 
don’t think I have spent an hour with you 
since I have been here without hearing you 
say you were so tired or so sleepy you could 
hardly sit up. I think it would be a good plan 
to fine yourself every time you make a com- 
plaint ; for if you stop the expression, you will 
soon find you are making the best of things 
inside. See ? Of course, I don’t believe you 
should never complain of anything. Only 
angels could achieve that. Besides, I don’t 
think it would be right. Things often deserve 
to be complained of ; and that is often the only 
way to remedy them. It is the habit of com- 


34 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


plaining I object to. I have n’t an atom of 
use for a woman who does it, no matter how 
attractive she may be in other ways.” 

“ And how about a man ? ” asked Margy, 
who was taking this lecture in a spirit very 
different from her usual one. It was easy 
enough to be amiable with such a delightful 
prospect waiting to be thought about. 

“ Oh, man is a privileged character. There 
would n’t be any sense in women being self- 
sacrificing and pleasant, if we were n’t selfish 
and disagreeable. However, nobody expects 
much of men, that ’s one comfort.” 

“ What nonsense ! ” exclaimed Margy, hotly. 

“ My dear child, you are too young to un- 
derstand this properly. Wait till you are older, 
and then you will realize the divine right of 
man to be as unpleasant as he chooses to make 
himself.” Margy was about to embark upon 
an argument, but she caught a gleam of fun in 
Ted’s eyes ; for he sat where the lamp in the 
hall shone on his face. 

“You’re teasing me!” she exclaimed. 
“ Come, Ted, tell me more about the 
school.” 

“ I know only what I have heard Louise 
Meredith say. You know she is in the class 
preparing for college. Now, I want you to 


AN EXPERIMENT. 


35 


enter that, too, and try for the scholarship at 
Vassar that is offered two years from now.” 

“ Oh ! ” Margy exclaimed estatically. 

“ Don’t raise your hopes, Margy. You will 
come in contact with the cleverest girl from 
lots of schools, and with the best of previous 
training, and will have to work hard to have 
the ghost of a show. I confess I have n’t any 
hopes of your winning it. What I hope is that 
if you make an unusually good showing in your 
exams., some means may be found for you to 

g°-” 

There were hundreds of questions Margy 
wanted to ask ; but Ted said it was bedtime, 
and that he would answer all he could in the 
morning ; and, besides, he had to take Miss 
Green back to her friends’ house. She did 
not insist, knowing that her mother would be 
calling up to her to go to bed, and being will- 
ing to do anything to avoid that indignity. 

“ There is one more thing I want to say,” 
Ted added, as he was leaving the room. “ I 
don’t want you to think that because I am tak- 
ing you to task this way, I set up for a para- 
gon myself. I should hope not! You have 
probably discovered lots of my imperfections 
for yourself, and I have dozens that you don’t 
know anything about. Perhaps that is the 


36 ’ AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 

reason why I can put my finger on yours so 
exactly. It is just a case of the blind leading 
the blind, — only I happen to know this part 
of the way a trifle better than you. Good' 
night, Margy.” 

Margy went to bed, but not to sleep. Most 
of the night was spent in dreaming of the 
laurels, social and scholastic, that she was 
going to win. Louise Meredith, Ted’s cousin 
on his father’s side, was to become her most 
intimate friend. She, Margy, was to win the 
scholarship, and they were to go to college 
together, and to share the same apartments, 
which she fitted up, down to the kind of paper 
she was going to have on the walls. Most of 
her vacations were to be spent at the Mere- 
diths’. She would have lovely clothes — where 
they were to come from, she did not decide ; 
and everybody would admire her tremendously. 
Finally, she did go to sleep, but she woke up 
early. She was so tired of lying in bed that 
she got up, dressed, and went downstairs. 
Her head was aching, but she resolved not to 
speak of it. Presently, Louise joined her on 
the front porch. 

“ I was awake and heard you go down,” she 
said. “ So you ’re going away to school, and, 
perhaps, to college ? ” 


AN EXPERIMENT. 


37 


“You must not even hint at that, Louise. 
As Ted says, there s hardly a ghost of a 
show.” 

“ O, I don’t know ! Miss Green says there’s 
nothing you can’t do in your studies, if you 
want to. She said your compositions deserved 
to be printed.” Louise had a real admiration 
of Margy’s intellectual abilities, her own being 
of a modest order. 

“Unfortunately, as Ted says, I come into 
competition with the cleverest girl from lots 
of schools.” 

“ I thought you thought girls ought not to 
go to college and know a lot,” went on Louise, 
who had not a particle of tact, blighting all 
the friendly feelings that her praise had given 
rise to. “You know you said men never liked 
girls who knew very much, and that it was a 
great deal sweller not to be very well edu- 
cated. I suppose it was hearing that Louise 
Meredith was going to college changed your 
mind,” Louise added contemplatively. This 
speech made Margy angry. It hurt her pride 
that Louise, or any one else, should assume 
that she was not on an equality with Louise 
Meredith, and that anybody’s actions should 
regulate her opinions. 

“ Oh dear, Louise,” she said, “ I wish you 


38 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


would n’t always remember every idle word a 
person said and throw it in her face. Louise 
Meredith ! As if she made any difference to 
me, — a girl I have never seen ! I ’ll wager 
she is stuck-up ; and I don’t believe she has 
anything to be stuck-up about except her 
money. Ted says she ’s not especially pretty. 
Oh dear, I ’ve got such an awful headache ! ” 
she finished, forgetting her resolution. She 
remembered it, a second later, and could have 
slapped Louise with pleasure, when the later 
explained at the breakfast-table that Margy 
had a bad headache. 

Ted did not seem to take any notice, but 
Margy blushed. The worst of it was, that 
her conscience made her acknowledge to her- 
self that it was not an awful headache, only a 
little bit of a one that went before she had 
half finished breakfast. 


CHAPTER III. 


“ A CHANGE OF SKY.” 

T ED had a long talk with his aunt before 
he went that afternoon. He was to 
engage a place for Margy at Miss 
Healey’s. He would not have been able to 
at that late date if she had not been a friend 
of his aunt, Mrs. Meredith. He knew she 
would find a corner for Margy to oblige him. 
The school did not open until the first of 
October, so there was a month to get ready 
in. When it was time to go, Ted would meet 
her at the station and take her to Miss 
Healey’s. 

Although he was as much at home as a son 
in his uncle’s house, he did not suggest that 
Margy should go there, for reasons of his own. 
He was anxious that Louise Meredith should 
become her friend, and he knew that if Margy 
were not thrust upon her until time and ob- 
servation should have modified her affectation 


39 


46 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


and manner of dressing herself, Louise would 
be much more apt to like her. Louise was 
an unusually fine girl, but she was somewhat 
intolerant, having the strongest of opinions as 
to the correct thing, and being hard on those 
who sinned through ignorance. She was never 
rude to any one, but was excessively polite to 
those she did not like. Ted knew by long ex- 
perience that the best way to manage her was 
to leave her to her own conscience and sense 
of duty or propriety. They often brought her 
around to being nice to people she thought 
objectionable when arguments or persuasions 
would have failed completely. 

The discomfort and unhappiness over Mar- 
gy’s new clothes were so great that everybody 
was heartily glad when it was time for her to 
go. The material for her new gowns Mrs. 
Brooks had insisted on buying, but Margy di- 
rected their making, and bought her new hat. 
She was not to have a new coat, but to wear 
her last winter’s one. She protested at this 
for a longtime, but her mother was firm. She 
could not possibly afford a new one. 

When he met her at the station, Ted was 
dismayed at Margy’s appearance, and gladder 
than ever that she was not to go home with 
him. Her gown would have been unobjec- 


l A CHANGE OF SKY . 


4 * 


tionable if it had not been trimmed with in- 
numerable rows of gilt braid and countless 
buttons. Her coat was only a little shabby 
and old-fashioned; but it was the hat that 
struck dismay to his soul. The milliner had 
sold it to her as the very latest thing out. A 
vizor and narrow brim of patent leather was 
topped by a Tam-o-Shanter-like crown of black 
velvet. This was tipped up on one side with 
several black quills, and some loops of gilt 
braid. As he looked at her, Ted wondered 
that he had ever considered her pretty, and 
felt glad that he had never expressed any opin- 
ion to Louise Meredith on the subject. And 
yet there were the same eyes, the same nose, 
the same mouth. The complexion was not 
the same, however, being disfigured by a coat- 
ing of powder. As for the soft bright brown 
hair he had always admired so much, each in- 
dividual lock of it was curled by the tongs, and 
the whole gathered into an “ artistic ” mass at 
the nape of her neck. A considerable bang 
was visible under the vizor. As they drove 
off in the Meredith’s carriage, Ted debated 
whether he should say anything to Margy 
about the powder, or let her find out its un- 
suitability for herself. He finally decided on 
the latter, being afraid she would not consider 


42 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


him, as a man, a reliable authority. “ If only 
Louise would come around handsome ! ” he 
said to himself. 

Miss Healey herself was in the drawing-room 
when they were shown in. Ted introduced 
Margy to her, and then excused himself, as he 
had an engagement. 

“ I want you to consider me as a sort of 
guardian to Margy, Miss Healey,” he said as 
he was going away. “ I talked her mother 
into sending her away from home, and I feel 
personally responsible.” 

“ Very well,” said Miss Healey. “ If I have 
difficulty in managing Miss Brooks, I will call 
on you for help.” She said this with a quiet 
smile, as if the idea of her having difficulties 
with anybody was amusing. She was a large 
woman with a fine figure and good carriage, 
but a plain face. It was a strong face, how- 
ever, and one that impressed you with its 
owner’s capability. 

“All right,” Ted answered. “I’ll bring 
her to order in no time. Aunt Madeline sent 
her love to you, Miss Healey, and said she was 
coming to see you soon. She has a plan for 
Louise that she wants to consult you about.” 

“ I wish she would. I am always interested 
in anything that concerns Louise.” 


l A CHANGE OF SKY.' 


43 


When Ted had gone, Miss Healey spoke a 
few friendly words to Margy, and then sent for 
the maid to show her to her room. The house 
had been built expressly for a school, and the 
third and fourth stories contained a number of 
small rooms, each intended for a single occu- 
pant. Each had a big closet with plenty of 
hooks and some deep drawers. A single bed, 
a bureau, a washstand, a table, and two chairs 
were all the furniture ; but they were all so 
pretty of their kind that the rooms were at- 
tractive, most unlike the usual boarding-school 
room. Margy ’s looked out on a side street, — 
the house was on a corner, — and the afternoon 
sun was streaming into it. The little bedstead 
was of brass, and the rest of the furniture of 
bird’s-eye maple. There were pretty white 
muslin curtains at the window ; also a broad 
window-seat upholstered in terra-cotta linen. 
The floor was polished, with a rug of plain 
terra-cotta carpeting in the centre. The china 
on the washstand was white and gold, and the 
bureau and table had plain hemstitched linen 
covers. There were some bamboo bookshelves 
on the terra-cotta walls, and one pretty photo- 
graph, a group of live oaks, framed in maple. 
Margy had taken off her coat and hat, washed 
the dust of travel off her face and hands, and 


44 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


renewed the powder, when she heard a knock 
at her door. In reply to her “ come in,” the 
door opened, and a girl of about her own age 
appeared. She had a bright, though not a 
pretty face, and a lively manner. 

“Miss Healey sent me to see if you had 
everything you wanted, and to show you the 
way around,” she said. “ There are so many 
people coming and going to-day that every one 
is busy. My name is Minnie Savage.” 

“You are very kind,” answered Margy. “ I 
was just wondering what I should do till my 
trunk comes.” 

“ It will be brought up immediately, and put 
out in the hall in front of your room, and taken 
away as soon as you have emptied it. Don’t 
you like your room? You were fortunate in 
getting an outside one. Mine opens on the 
inner court. This was Katharine Hills’ last 
year. She expected to come back until a few 
weeks ago, and that is how you happened to 
get it. She went to Europe with her aunt in- 
stead. She was a great friend of mine, so it 
seems quite natural to be coming here. Don’t 
you think it is pretty?” 

“It’s lovely,” answered Margy. “Are all 
the rooms as pretty as this ? It is n’t at all like 
my idea of a school bedroom.” 


( A CHANGE OF SKY." 


45 


“Well, you see this isn’t like a common 
school. Miss Healey owns the house and lot ; 
and she has all sorts of theories about educa- 
tion. One is that we are taught as much by 
influence and association as by our books, and 
that it does us good to have pretty, pleasant 
surroundings. Our rooms are given a thor- 
ough cleaning once a week, but the rest of the 
time we have to take care of them for our- 
selves. If you want to please Miss Healey, 
you will keep yours immaculate. She comes 
around herself and examines them once in a 
while. There is a little room at the end of the 
hall where there are brooms and dustpans and 
all that sort of thing ; and look here.” She 
opened a drawer in the washstand and showed 
a cake of sapolio, a couple of clean cloths, and 
a duster. “ Miss Healey is determined we shall 
not have any excuse for not keeping things 
nice. I ’ll tell yon another thing she hates, — 
it’s having a lot of things around. She says 
that bric-a-brac and ornaments of any kind are 
especially out of place in a bedroom. She 
does n’t like us to hang anything on our walls 
that is n’t really good, no truck like German 
favors and dance programs, you understand. 
I don’t mean that there are any rules about 
this, — that is another of Miss Healey’s fads. 


4 6 AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 

She thinks people need freedom if they are to 
amount to anything. Of course, there have 
to be some rules, but there are as few as possi- 
ble. She is very particular about the girls she 
takes ; there are only twenty-five boarders, you 
know, but over a hundred day scholars. You 
are to be in the college class, I believe, Miss 
Brooks ?” 

“Yes,” answered Margy, “in the second 
year division. Are you ? ” 

“ Not I. I ’m too lazy or too stupid, or too 
both. I can tell you you have to study hard. 
No soft snaps in yours.” 

“ Don’t the other girls have to study hard ? ” 

“ Oh, well, you are expected to, of course ; 
but it is n’t as if you had those awful exams, 
looming up. You know Miss Healey won’t 
admit on certificate except in unusual cases. 
She gave Florence Hall one into Smith last 
year, because she was so horribly nervous, and 
the strain was so bad for her. She was a very 
clever girl, and thoroughly prepared, or Miss 
Healey wouldn’t have done it. Of course, 
most of the girls for Vassar would prefer to 
take the exams, on account of the chance of 
the scholarship, though that ’s generally only 
every four years. Sometimes the girl who 
stands the highest does not need it, and then 


*A CHANGE OF SKY. 


47 


the next one gets it.” Margy was naturally 
intensely interested in all this. She sat and 
asked questions, which Miss Savage answered; 
until she heard her trunk arrive. 

“You ’ll want to unpack,” said her new 
friend. “ I ’ll go and finish my own, and then 
come back and show you around, and take you 
down to dinner. My room is 1 7, if you get 
through before I do.” 

It did not take Margy long to unpack, so 
she thought she would go and look up Miss 
Savage. She found No. 16 without any diffi- 
culty, and was walking toward the next room, 
when she heard voices over the transom, and 
caught her own name. She stopped and turned 
away, but not before she caught the following 
remark : 

“ Her name is Margaret Brooks, and she 
is n’t much. I can’t see why Miss Healey took 
her. Her clothes are countrified, and she uses 
loads of powder on her face ; but, oh ! you 
should see her hair. Mops are n’t in it. She 
does n’t look as if she ’d be much of a student, 
but she s in the college class for next year.” 
Margy’s face burned, and tears came into her 
eyes ; but she would not let them fall, not even 
when she got back into , the room that had 
seemed so homelike and pleasant a few mo- 


4 8 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


ments before. She sat in her rocking-chair and 
buried her face in the window-seat, pressing 
her fingers over her eyes. All the flavor seemed 
to have gone out of everything. She thought 
with regret of her ugly room at home, and of 
the plain, old-fashioned supper-table which 
Eliza would be setting. Evidently, everything 
was not to be smooth sailing here, any more 
than at home. Presently, she got up, took off 
her gown and washed her face. Then she 
undid her hair, brushed the artificial curl out 
of it, parted and put back her bang as well as 
she could, and, after several trials, did it up 
simply, in the way Miss Savage’s was done. 
She had just fastened her gown when she heard 
the latter’s voice in the hall. She pulled her- 
self up to the effort of being exactly as she 
was before. She would not for worlds have 
had her suspect that she had overheard her 
remarks. 

“ Have you finished your unpacking?” she 
asked as naturally as possible when Miss Sav- 
age came in. 

“Yes, thank heaven ! It took me longer 
than I thought it would. It ’s such a nuisance, 
not so bad as packing though,” with a curious 
stare at Margy’s hair. Just then, another 
knock was heard at the door. It proved to 


'A CHANGE OF SKYE 


49 


be the maid with a package for Miss Brooks. 
“For me?” asked Margy, in surprise, sure 
there had been some mistake. It was ad- 
dressed to Miss Margaret Brooks, however, 
so she opened it. 

“ I can’t imagine what it is,” she said as she 
took off the outer wrapper. Within was a 
white box, and inside that, a brush, hat-brush, 
shoe horn, and button-hook, all of frosted sil- 
ver, with her initials in a monogram on each. 
There was a tortoise-shell comb, too. 

“ How perfectly lovely ! ” exclaimed Minnie, 
ecstatically. “ See, there ’s a card.” On the 
card was written, “ From your affectionate 
guardian.” The name of Mr. Edward Van 
Dyke Meredith was engraved upon it. 

“ Is he your guardian ? ” asked Minnie, who 
had read the card with Margy. 

“ Oh, that ’s only some of Ted’s nonsense. 
He ’s my cousin, my first cousin,” explained 
Margy. 

“ Then Louise Meredith is your cousin ?” 

“ No : we are on different sides. I do not 
know her at all. I have never even seen her.” 
Margy might not have been so explicit in de- 
nying the relationship if she had not been 
afraid Louise Meredith herself would be. Evi- 
dently, a connection with the Merediths was 


50 AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 

of some value, judging by her companion’s 
tone. 

“ I suppose Mr. Ted Meredith got you in 
here,” Minnie went on, not knowing that 
Margy could read between the lines of her 
remark. 

“Yes; I owe the honor entirely to him,” 
Margy replied quietly. An electric bell now 
rang through the hall. 

“ That ’s dinner,” explained Minnie. “There 
was n’t any dressing bell to-night.” 

The dining-room was a large, pleasant room 
with a number of small tables in it, each hold- 
ing eight. As the girls went in the door, a 
young woman, whom Margy afterwards discov- 
ered to be the teacher of mathematics, came 
up to them and told Margy she was to sit at 
Miss Healey’s table. 

“ Show Miss Brooks where it is, please, 
Minnie,” she added. “She is to sit next to 
Miss Healey.” 

“ My, but you ’re honored ! ” Minnie ex- 
claimed, after Miss Taylor had moved off. 
“ Miss Healey never has any but old girls sit 
at her table, — and next to her, too ! I sup- 
pose it ’s because you ’re sort of related to the 
Merediths. Miss Healey thinks they’re just 
about all right.” Miss Healey was not at her 


l A CHANGE OF SKY.” 


5i 


table, but there were three girls there. Min- 
nie introduced Margy to them before she left 
her. Their names were Gertrude Mayne, Edith 
Sandelin, and Sally Garnis. They made a 
few polite remarks to Margy, but were so ab- 
sorbed in themselves and each other, that they 
soon forgot all about her. Margy had an un- 
comfortable, left-out-in-the-cold feeling. The 
people and things they were talking of were 
entirely unknown to her. Miss Healey came 
in just as the soup was being taken off, with 
an apology for being late. 

“ I was detained by an anxious parent,” she 
explained. “ She is going to send her daughter 
here as a day scholar. First, she wanted her 
to prepare for college in a year, and not to 
study evenings. I explained to her that it 
would be quite impossible, even if she did 
study evenings, as the girl has not even be- 
gun Latin.” 

“ What did she do then ? ” asked Gertrude 
Mayne, a clever-looking girl with glasses. 

“ She was staggered for a minute ; but now 
she thinks she ’ll have her finished off for so- 
ciety. I have n’t seen the girl, so I could not 
give my advice as to which process would 
suit her best. She could not possibly let her 
spend more than one year preparing, as she 


5 2 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


thought every girl ought to be married before 
she was twenty-five, and that would leave her 
so little time.” 

“ I don’t think there is any doubt but that 
finishing off would suit her best if she has that 
kind of a mother,” said Edith Sandelin. 

“ Please don’t, Edith,” Sally Garnis pro- 
tested. “ I ’m being finished off, and my 
mother is n’t at all that style. In fact, it is 
a wonder how a sensible, intellectual woman 
like her came to have such a daughter.” 

“ My dear Sally, is logic included in your 
finishing course ? I think it ought to be, don’t 
you, Miss Healey?” 

“ Oh, Sally thinks it is a poor rule that 
does n’t work both ways, Edith,” said Miss 
Healey. Margy listened in amazement to 
this conversation. The girls seemed so much 
at home with Miss Healey. It was contra- 
dictory to all her previous ideas. In a min- 
ute, Miss Healey turned to her, and asked 
her if she were unpacked. 

“ I told Minnie Savage to keep an eye on 
you. I knew she would tell you everything 
you could possibly want to know. She is al- 
most as big a talker as Miss Garnis.” 

“ Now, Miss Healey,” protested Sally. 
“ I ’ve hardly said a word since I came back ; 


l A CHANGE OF SKY A 


53 


now, have I, girls ? Besides, I heard you say 
that it is n’t fair to throw past sins and follies 
in a girl’s face. How do you know that I 
have n’t reformed this summer ?” 

“ Have you ?” asked Edith. 

“ Well, no ; but I might have for all Miss 
Healey knew.” 

“ I never said you talked too much, Sally.” 

“ No ; but you thought it.” 

“Well, you and I are in the same boat. 
We both like to hear our own voices. I have 
frequently been told that I talk too much. 
At your age, I talked a great deal more than 
you do.” 

“ How comforting !” exclaimed Sally. 

“You have the room I wanted,” Edith 
Sandelin said to Margy, “only Miss Healey 
would n’t let me have it. I wrote to her just 
as soon as I heard Miss Hills was not coming 
back.” 

“ But your room is just as desirable, Edith.” 

“Yes; only I can’t seethe Hollister boys 
go to business from mine, and they are so 
good-looking. Don’t be shocked, Miss Brooks. 
They can’t see me. Besides, my room is blue, 
and I like terra-cotta better.” 

“ Perhaps Miss Brooks will let you lookout 
of her window every morning,” Miss Healey 


54 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


su gg es t e d. “ But I would n’t sigh for the 
Hollister boys, Edith. You would n’t have 
a ghost of a show with them until you, or 
they, were four or five years older, and they 
probably won’t be in the market by that time. 
I am glad to see that it does n’t affect your 
appetite,” she added, as Edith asked for some 
more roast beef. 

“ Nothing does that,” said Edith. Margy 
was more taken with Edith Sandelin than with 
any girl she had yet seen. She had such a 
refined, interesting face, and her manner was 
so easy and natural. 

Margy was glad when dinner was over ; for 
in spite of Miss Healey’s efforts to include 
her in the conversation, she felt stiff and ill 
at ease and out of it generally. When they 
left the dining-room, Miss Healey walked be- 
side her to the head of the stairs. 

“ Did you get your package?” she asked. 
“ You must show them to me some time,” she 
added, when Margy had told her about its 
contents. “ You could n’t have a better friend 
than Ted Meredith,” she went on. “ I have 
known him and all of them for years, and they 
are thoroughbred right through, as you don’t 
need to be told. But I believe you don’t 
know Louise. Ah, there is a girl for you ! 


l A CHANGE OF SKY: 


55 


You will see her to-morrow. You and she 
will be in most of the same classes.” She 
turned to leave Margy, but then took a step 
back and added : “ I like the way you have 
your hair now. It is so simple and suitable 
for a school-girl, and, fortunately, it happens 
to be the fashion.” This was said so kindly 
that Margy could not be annoyed, even al- 
though she felt the implied criticism on her 
previous style of hair-dressing. She resolved 
to keep to this new style, even although she 
could not yet see wherein lay its superiority 
to the old. In fact, it seemed to her much 
less attractive. Still, teachers and pupils were 
evidently agreed, and it was just as well to 
have her world with her. She did not guess 
that Miss Healey had sent Minnie Savage to 
her just because she was always so tastefully 
dressed, rather than a girl whose moral and 
intellectual qualities were of a higher order. 
She had resolved to begin on the outside 
with Margy, for Ted had been very frank 
with her. 

“ I am afraid you won’t like her very well, 
Miss Healey,” he had said. “ She dresses 
abominably, and is a little affected ; but she has 
never had the ghost of a show, poor girl ! She 
has always lived in this little country town ; 


5 <> 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


and is so much cleverer intellectually than her 
mother and sister that she does not respect their 
social instincts, which are much better than 
her own, in being excessively conservative. 
Margy’s are adventurous. Still, I ask you 
to take her because I think she has great pos- 
sibilities. Just get her with people whose so- 
cial knowledge she respects, and she will pick 
up the correct thing to do, say, or wear in no 
time. She is marvellously quick. She has 
read more than any girl I have ever known, 
and has excellent taste in books. I think she 
is brilliant intellectually. Aunt Madeline says 
her father was the cleverest man she has ever 
known.” 

Miss Healey liked experiments, so she re- 
solved to do her best for Margy. That was 
the reason she had seated her at her own table, 
to Minnie Savage’s great surprise, and had 
given her so desirable a room. 

When Margy got back to her room, the 
first thing she did was to sit down and write 
a letter to Ted. She got out her best paper, 
pale pink, heavily scented. Her spirits rose 
as she wrote. She felt it was a bright, clever 
little letter, and the thought was inspiring. 
Her thoughts always came so smoothly and 
easily on paper. She had just finished when 


{ A CHANGE OF SHY: 


SI 


Minnie Savage came to see how she was 
getting on. 

“ I Ve been writing to my cousin,” Margy 
explained. “ Can you tell me how to get the 
letter mailed ? ” 

“ Just put it on the table in the front hall. 
Here, give it to me. I ’m going downstairs 
anyway. What a pretty hand you write. 
You don’t want to use pink paper, and those 
queer-shaped envelopes, though : it ’s not the 
correct thing. You can get lovely paper with 
the address stamped on it at the store. That ’s 
what we call the room where we buy our books. 
Miss Healey buys paper, books, and things at 
wholesale rates, and sells them to us cheaper 
than we can get them at the stores. I don’t 
think that is her reason for the paper, though : 
she wants to be sure we use the right kinds.” 
After Minnie had gone, Margy wrote a letter 
home, and then went to bed. She was tired 
with her journey and the novelty, and she had 
been so excited the night before that she 
could not sleep. She was troubled the same 
way this night ; but, after awhile, fatigue over- 
came excitement, and she fell asleep in her 
comfortable little bed. 

There were no regular lessons the next day. 
Teachers met their classes, told what their 


58 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


plans were for the coming half year, and gave 
out the work for the following day. The few 
faces Margy knew were lost among dozens of 
strange ones. Occasionally, she would see 
some girl standing by as bewildered as herself ; 
but, for the most part, they seemed to know 
each other. 

When the morning was about half over, she 
was sitting in Miss Taylor’s recitation room, 
waiting for some one to tell her where to go 
next, when she heard a voice beside her say : 

“ Miss Taylor tells me you are Miss Brooks.” 
Margy turned to see a tall, well-developed girl 
with dark hair and gray eyes. She was not 
exactly pretty, but she had a refined, intellectual 
face. “ I am Louise Meredith,” she added, 
holding out her hand. 

“ I am happy to meet you, Miss Meredith,” 
replied Margy, stiffly, with what she consid- 
ered a society air. 

“Ted had such a nice time at your house,” 
Louise went on. “ He says he saw a great 
deal of the Murrays. Don’t you like them ? 
They are such nice boys. Their sister is nice, 
too, though not very exciting.” 

“ I don’t know any of them,” Margy an- 
swered reluctantly. “ You see they are at 
home so seldom.” 


l A CHANGE OF SKY." 


59 


“ I thought everybody knew everybody in 
small towns. But I must n’t forget to tell you 
that Mother is coming to see you this after- 
noon. She knew your father very intimately.” 
Margy did not know what to say to this, so 
she did not say anything. Louise waited a 
second, and then went on : “ Miss Healey says 
we are in almost the same classes, which re- 
minds me that I must ask Miss Taylor some- 
thing before she goes.” She walked off after 
a pleasant good-by, leaving Margy ready to 
kick herself. She had been so stiff and stupid, 
when she would have liked so much to make 
a good impression. 

She was trying to fix her mind on her books 
that afternoon when Mrs. Meredith’s card was 
brought to her. She felt decidedly nervous 
as she went downstairs. If Louise Meredith, 
a girl of her own age, had overcome her, what 
would n’t her mother do ! Mrs. Meredith was 
a large, handsome, aristocratic-looking woman, 
— far handsomer than her daughter. She 
greeted Margy kindly, and asked her the usual 
questions as to whether she liked her room 
and surroundings, if she had been homesick, 
and what she was going to study. Margy 
found herself as tongue-tied and as uninterest- 
ing as she had been with Louise. She could 


6o 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


not think of a thing to say, not even when 
Mrs. Meredith began to talk of her father, and, 
finally, of Ted. When she got up to go, she 
took a lovely potted fern off a table near by, 
and gave it to Margy. 

“ I thought it would look well on the win- 
dow-sill in your room,” she said. Margy tried 
to thank her adequately, but was stiff and awk- 
ward about it. 

That evening, Ted came to see her for a 
few minutes. It seemed so good to see a fa- 
miliar face, that the embarrassment and self- 
consciousness she had been troubled with all 
day vanished. Ted was always easy to talk to, 
anyway. He made her tell him all she would 
about her day’s adventures. She felt happier 
after he left, but humbler than she had ever 
been in her life. She had never before been in a 
position in which she was of absolutely no con- 
sequence. 

In the meanwhile, Ted had gone home and 
was talking with Louise. He found her wait- 
ing at the head of the stairs. She had been 
on her way up to bed when she had heard the 
click of his latch-key in the hall door. 

“Been studying?” he asked as he joined 
her, balancing himself on the banisters. 

“ Not to-night. Do sit down here, Ted. 


“A CHANGE OF SKY." 61 

It makes me nervous to have you hang there. 
Where have you been ?” 

“To see Margy.” 

“Well, how was she? Mother went to see 
her this afternoon, you know.” 

“Yes: so she said at dinner. She was 
rather blue, but I cheered her up a little. I 
can tell you, Louise, it’s hard on a girl or a 
fellow to go from a place where you are of 
great importance to one where you are a no- 
body. I felt it enough going to college, I 
know. I hope you were n’t too polite to her 
to-day.” 

“On the contrary, I was very affable and 
friendly. It was she who was polite and did 
society.” 

“ She was probably afraid of being too ac- 
cessible. She is very proud. I hope you 
did n’t think she was utterly impossible.” 

“ I wished she had n’t a big bang and had n’t 
used perfume, and had been easier and more 
natural in her manner.” 

“ All that will come in time. Only give her 
a chance. You see, she has been spoiled by 
some silly, third-rate people, a Mrs. Morgan 
and her daughter, who flattered her, and told 
her she was something wonderful, and made 
her think she knew it all. The daughter’s 


62 


AN UN LESSONED GIRL. 


name is Alice, and she spells it A-l-y-s, so you 
can guess what kind of people they are.” Ted 
had almost forgotten his resolution not to 
bring Margy prominently before Louise, or 
ask her to befriend her, he had been so dis- 
tressed at the unhappiness she showed so 
plainly. He pulled himself up in time, how- 
ever, and said good-night for fear he should do 
it again. 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE OTHER LOUISE. 

M ARGY often in after life looked upon 
the next two weeks as the unhappiest 
she had ever spent when not suffering 
from some definite sorrow. The girls did not 
take to her, and let her alone severely. Miss 
Healey was especially kind to her, but this 
did not influence them, as they looked upon 
her kindness as professional. Then, her clothes 
mortified her. She felt shabby and ill-dressed. 
Besides, it had taken her only a few days to 
find out that not only quality and make but 
style were at fault. She had a fit of mortifi- 
cation every time she put on the hat she had 
thought so stylish a fortnight before. She 
often caught curious glances directed at it, and 
imagined ones she did not see. When she 
went out, she felt as if every one behind her 
were looking at it. She went over and over 
all possible and impossible means of buying a 
new one, but could not think of any within 
63 


6 4 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


her power. It would be useless to apply to 
her mother, even if she could make up her 
mind to do it. All her clothes were bad, but 
she felt she could stand them, if only she could 
get rid of that awful hat. 

Friday afternoon of the second week, Louise 
stopped to speak to her after school, and asked 
her to take luncheon with her the following 
day. She had already spoken to Miss Healey, 
she said. Margy was inwardly much pleased, 
but outwardly she seemed only a little stiff 
and ungracious. 

“ I have been able to see so little of you,” 
Louise went on, “ and I feel we ought to know 
each other better on Ted’s account.” 

Margy had a fresh pang of mortification 
over her clothes when she got ready to go the 
next day. The maid who waited on the door 
was to take her there, and Louise had prom- 
ised to bring her home. Her heart sank down 
into her boots as she went up the tall flight of 
marble steps that led to the door of the Mere- 
diths’ house. It had time to come up again 
and flutter around in various parts of her per- 
son in the short interval that took place be- 
tween the ringing of the bell and the opening 
of the door. Margy’s voice almost trembled 
as she asked the butler for Miss Meredith. 


THE OTHER LOUISE. 


6 5 


Louise joined her in the drawing-room imme- 
diately. 

“ Come upstairs and take off your things,” 
she said. She took Margy up into her own 
room, a large beautiful one, in which every- 
thing was at the same time handsome and 
simple. Louise herself was beautifully dressed 
in a full black satin waist, with big sleeves, 
and a belt with a gold buckle. Her skirt, of 
the most perfect cut and finish, was of plaid 
cloth with a black ground. She had on patent- 
leather low shoes, and a little gold comb was 
in her dark hair. 

“ Should you like to see Ted's room?” she 
asked when Margy had taken off her hat and 
coat, leading the way across the hall. Margy 
looked around Ted’s room with a great deal 
of interest. It was large, like all the rooms 
in the house, and even more handsomely fur- 
nished than Louise’s. 

“ Mother had the room done over when 
Ted came back from Germany,” said Louise, 
"‘and just see here.” She led the way into 
a bath-room the size of a small room, fitted up 
with a needle bath besides the regular tub. 

“ Is n’t this nice ? Father has promised me 
a needle bath, too, some time.” Margy had 
never seen one before, but she did not say so. 


66 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


“ There ’s a door behind the chiffonier,” 
Louise went on when they were back in the 
room, “ and I used to have the next room when 
I was first advanced to the dignity of a room 
to myself. I was only eight years old, and 
I used to be afraid nights, but was too 
proud to confess it. Ted heard me crying 
one night, and came in and comforted me, and 
after that he used to leave his door open a 
little behind the portiere , and if I woke up 
frightened, his breathing would reassure me. 
It was no use speaking to him, as nothing 
short of an explosion would wake him up. 
Mother does not know anything about it to 
this day. I was always so afraid she would 
make me go back to my nurse and the nursery 
again. I think it was very unusual for a boy 
of his age to be willing to humor a child in- 
stead of making fun of her.” 

Louise next took her into a room in the top 
story of the house fitted up as a gymnasium. 

“ Of course, it has n’t the things the gym- 
nasium at school has, but it does very well,” 
she said. 

“ Do you exercise here every day ? ” 

“Yes: every morning before breakfast. I 
get up at a few minutes before seven, slip on 
my gym. suit, and perform here until a quarter 


THE OTHER LOUISE. 


6 7 


to eight. Then, I have my bath and get 
dressed in time to have breakfast with Father 
and Ted at quarter past eight, and that gets 
me to school just at nine.” 

“Do you do this because you like to?” 
asked Margy in amazement. 

“ Why, yes. Nobody makes me, that is. I 
do it because I want to keep well and feel jolly. 
Just as soon as I stop taking some sort of 
violent exercise, every day, — walking does n’t 
count — I begin to feel draggled and to have 
fits of depression. Three quarters of an hour 
a day is very little to give for the comfort of 
always feeling perfectly well. The only part 
I don’t like is the getting up in the morning. 
Sometimes I have to use violence to get my- 
self out of bed. This is n’t all the exercise I 
take, though. I often ride in the park after 
school, and I drive with mother, though that 
is n’t exercise, I suppose. Then, I walk to and 
from school; and sometimes I come up here 
with Ted for a few minutes before going to 
bed. He teaches me how to do all sorts of 
things. The only trouble is that he is seldom 
in early enough, and I always go to bed at 
ten when I am studying.” 

** Don’t you ever go out, to the theatre or 
anything ? ” 


68 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


“ Very seldom. Mother says there will be 
time enough when I am out, and I agree with 
her. Sometimes, when we have a small din- 
ner here at home, I go down, but not often. 
Mother likes to have me, but I can’t spare the 
time. Usually, I study upstairs in the morn- 
ing-room all the evening, so as not to be in- 
terrupted. On our day at home, I often go 
downstairs from five to six, and that is all the 
time I can spare.” The butler now came up 
and announced luncheon. Margy had expected 
this would be an imposing meal, and had looked 
forward to writing a full account of it home. 
So it was, but the imposingness was only in 
the beauty of the china and silver and in the 
service ; for the luncheon itself was very sim- 
ple, consisting of broiled oysters, potted quail 
with fried sweet potatoes, and baked apples. 
Louise apologized for her mother’s absence. 
She had forgotten a promise to lunch infor- 
mally with a friend until after Margy had been 
invited. 

After luncheon, they went into the drawing- 
room. There was a grand piano there with 
music scattered over it. 

“ Do you play, Miss Meredith ? ” asked 
Margy. 

“ Not what you would call playing. I some- 


THE OTHER LOUISE. 


69 


times play a little Robin Hood or music of that 
sort for Ted when nobody else is around. Do 
you play yourself ? ” 

“No,” Margy answered. “I took lessons 
once, but I did n’t get far enough along to play 
really good music. I don’t care for any but 
classical music,” she added. 

“ Don’t you ? Why, you miss a lot ! I sup- 
pose it is rather awful to confess it ; but I love 
to have some one sit down and play songs and 
all that sort of thing. I have a cousin who 
can play anything you ask for, and the last 
time he was here, he played for us all Sunday 
evening, and when he wound up with Dixie , 
— the 1 / ' se gwiri back to Dixie ’ one — and 
‘ Nelly was a lady' I felt I liked them best of 
all.. I could n’t get 1 All night the cotton-wood 
a! -toting' out of my head for days, and Ted 
says it woke him up in the night, singing itself 
inside his, which I doubt, by the way. Of 
course, I like what you might call light clas- 
sical music, but the real sort is too much for 

> y 

me. 

“ Darkey songs are nice,” confessed Margy, 
feeling that it was safe to have vulgar tastes 
in such good company, “ and I like lots of other 
songs, too.” 

“ Are they musical at your home ? ” 


70 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


“ No : only our Rector’s daughter. She is 
quite old now, nearly thirty, but she studied 
under some of the best masters abroad. She 
plays the organ in our church, and I often go 
over and listen to her practice. I did n’t know 
Ted liked music. I asked him one day if 
he would like to go and hear Miss Mayhew, 
and he said it was against his principles to lis- 
ten to music on Fridays.” 

“ Oh, he only likes light music. Why, he 
went to Robin Hood fifteen times, and he 
would n’t go once to Tannhaiiser , not even 
when he was in Germany. He likes to sing 
jolly songs at the top of his lungs in a crowd. 
That’s his idea of good music. Come, let’s 
go into the library. It’s so much pleasanter, 
as it has the afternoon sun.” 

“You and Ted are very fond of each other, 
aren’t you?” asked Margy, as they passed 
across the hall. She had been nerving herself 
to put this question, ever since Louise had 
invited her. Someway, she felt an intense 
curiosity on the subject. 

“Yes: I suppose we are, though we don’t 
show it much, not being of the spoony order. 
If we were real brother and sister, I suppose 
we’d fight, or look upon one another as of no 
importance, — almost all the ones I know do. 


THE OTHER LOUISE. 


7i 


As it is, however, we are very good friends. 
I fancy one reason is because Ted has been 
away from home so much that we have n’t seen 
too much of each other. Then, he is so many 
years older than I that it is only lately we have 
been thrown together much. Oh, Ted’s a 
darling, and lots nicer than a real brother 
would be ! ” 

“ I have always wanted a real brother,” said 
Margy. 

“ I suppose I should have, too, if I did n’t 
know so many girls whose brothers were ut- 
terly uncongenial to them, and vice versa. I 
do think, though, I should be quite as fond of 
Ted if he were my own brother.” 

The library was a beautiful room. It was a 
library in more than name, for every spare inch 
of the walls was lined with bookcases. Books 
were irresistible to Margy, and she walked 
around examining the backs of these. She 
grew so interested that she dropped her 
“ society ” manner, and talked about those 
she had read so sensibly and naturally that 
Louise was delighted. When Margy talked 
about books, she always expressed her own 
true opinions, and not those she thought 
for the moment she held, or those of any- 
body else. 


72 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


“ What a lot you have read, and how well 
you remember it ! ” exclaimed Louise admir- 
ingly. “ I like to read, but then I like to do 
such lots of other things too.” 

“ Well, you see I have n’t had anything else 
to amuse me but reading ; and Mr. Mayhew, 
our Rector, let me borrow all his books. My 
father left quite a library, too, and the town 
library is unusually good. If I had been situ- 
ated like you, I should probably have read very 
little.” Louise was pleased at this speech, and 
stored it up to repeat to Ted. It was the first 
time Margy had acknowledged any inferiority 
in her circumstances, or seemed to recognize 
any superiority in Louise’s. 

“If she knew how much it lessens other 
people’s consciousness of our disadvantages to 
speak of them frankly,” she said to herself, 
with a wisdom beyond her years. She felt, 
for instance, that she would not have minded 
the bad style of Margy’s clothes so much if 
she had acknowledged her ignorance of the 
fashions. 

Just then the butler came in to find out at 
what time they wanted the carriage, as the 
coachman wished to have a shoe of one of the 
horses reset some time before night. 

“ Oh, tell him right away. I had forgotten 


THE OTHER LOUISE. 


73 


we were going to drive. You would like to 
go, would n’t you, Miss Brooks ?” 

“Very much,” Margy answered stiffly, the 
presence of the butler bringing back her com- 
pany manners. In reality, she was delighted 
at the prospect of driving in the beautiful vic- 
toria with its perfectly matched bays, which 
she had seen standing before the school on sev- 
eral occasions. A mortifying second thought 
was that her hat would look more impossible 
than ever in such surroundings. It comforted 
her a little that Louise did not even glance at 
it while she put it on ; she watched her care- 
fully. Louise excused herself for a few min- 
utes before they started. 

“ I had promised Mother to tell the cook 
how to make a certain kind of sauce, and came 
near forgetting all about it,” she explained, 
after they were driving up the avenue. 

“Why, can you cook?” asked Margy in 
amazement. 

“ Cook ? I should say so. I can cook like 
a breeze.” 

“How did you come to learn?” Margy 
asked. 

“Oh, it ’s too long a story.” Then, notic- 
ing Margy’s expression, she went on : “Would 
you like to hear it ? I was afraid it would bore 


74 AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 

you. You see, Father is a wheat speculator, 
and, consequently, his money is not on a very 
secure basis ; and, two years ago, he was very 
much afraid that he would fail. He grew so 
thin and looked so wretched that one day 
Mother tackled — spoke to him on the subject, 
I mean. She asked him why he made him- 
self and us so unhappy, and asked him if it 
would n’t be an honorable failure. Father 
said it was on our account, hers and mine. 
Ted has some money of his own, you know. 
If he failed, he would give up everything, and 
he hated to think of our coming down to com- 
parative poverty. We had always been waited 
on so much that we would be very helpless 
and \yretched. Mother waited until he had 
finished. Then she said — I remember exactly 
how she said it, quietly but resolutely. She 
said he seemed to have forgotten that she was 
a poor girl when he married her, earning a 
very simple living by writing for any paper or 
magazine that would pay her a few dollars ; 
that she could be poor again, and happy and 
uncomplaining in her poverty, if only she did 
not have to lose him too. Her diamonds, the 
plate, everything else should go. As for me, 
she thought, perhaps, she had been wrong. It 
was a difficult problem how to give a rich girl 


THE OTHER LOUISE. 


75 


any practical knowledge ; but it was the one 
she should solve if he weathered that storm. 
Well, he did weather it, and Mother solved 
the problem. Father has a sister living in 
Vermont, in the old farm-house he was born 
in. They sent me up there the very next 
summer, and I stayed four months. Aunt 
Abby is a most wonderful cook and house- 
keeper, and quite poor. She won’t take any 
money from father, so we did everything ex- 
cept the washing ourselves. The summer 
after, I spent two months there, and I have 
just been there a month.” 

“ How did you like it ?” asked Margy. “ I 
should think it would have made you angry 
when it was n’t necessary.” 

“Oh, I was n’t consulted. It did make me 
angry at first, furiously angry, and I made up 
my mind I would n’t learn a thing, just to spite 
them ; but Aunt Abby is a dear, and knew 
just how to manage me. She told me in any- 
thing but polite terms that I was an ungrateful 
wretch, and that if there was anything I could 
do to set my father’s mind at rest, I ought to 
do it, even if I did think it unnecessary and 
beneath my dignity, and even if I was sure I 
could learn all that sort of thing fast enough 
if I ever had to. Well, I soon came around, 


7 6 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL . 


and discovered that I positively loved to cook, 
and had quite a genius for it, — inherited from 
Aunt Abby probably. She taught me how to 
sew, too. I made a gingham gown last sum- 
mer all myself ; and I know how to put new 
braids on my gowns and do all that sort of 
thing. I can make a bed and sweep a room 
as well as Aunt Abby, and that ’s saying a 
great deal. Ask Ted if I can’t cook. He 
came up and spent a week with us just before 
school opened, and I outdid myself for him. 
At first, he used to insist on helping us. It 
would take him fully ten minutes to wipe a 
dish. I shall never forget how funny he looked 
one night. He had put on Aunt Abby’s cap 
on one side of his head, and tied an apron 
around his waist. The strings were meant to 
come around and tie in front, but his waist is 
so big they would n’t meet ; so he tied them in 
a bow in back, and the long ends floated in the 
breeze. They looked so ridiculous dangling 
down his trousers. Well, he stood there pol- 
ishing a plate with a dish-towel and talking a 
blue streak, until he suddenly discovered that 
we had finished the dishes while he was doing 
that one plate. After that, he could n’t be in- 
duced to help us, no matter how hard we 
begged him to. Aunt Abby just lost her heart 


THE OTHER LOUISE. 


77 


to Ted, and he was so nice to her. He used 
to kiss her every morning and evening just for 
fun. It used to embarrass her dreadfully, but 
she liked it. Ted used to wink at me to look 
at her blush before he did it. I don’t believe 
any man but Father has kissed her for 
years and years, and she hardly ever sees 
him.” 

“ Do tell some more,” implored Margy, who 
had been listening to this with breathless 
interest. 

“ There is n’t any more to tell. Ted was in 
Germany at the time of the panic, but he wrote 
to Father that he was too silly for words to 
worry so. Of course, he would take care of 
Mother and me. Father wrote back how did 
he know there would n’t be a Mrs. Ted and a 
little Ted by the time we needed it. One good 
thing that fright did, besides teaching me how 
to cook, was to make Father resolve to pull 
out of business as fast as he could, and not to 
risk what he had for more that we did not need. 
That is what he is doing now. I just long for 
the time when he won’t be so busy, for we 
are going to do all sorts of delightful things. 
Father is such good company when he gets 
his old wheat out of his head.” 

“ Were n’t you very unhappy to think you 


7 § 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


might have to lose everything ? ” Margy 
asked. 

“Not very. You see, I was too young to 
have it bother me much ; and, then, I had such 
unbounded confidence in Father. Even now, 
though, we often plan what we would do if he 
should lose everything. Father is to keep a 
country store. You see, he earned the money 
for his first two years in college by working in 
one, and he knows all about it. Mother and 
I want to do it in Vermont somewhere, but 
Father won’t hear of it. He says the only 
place to make money that way is in a new 
country. So we are going to Montana or 
Idaho. We shall live behind the shop, and I 
am to do the cooking and help tend store, and 
Mother is to write for the papers. And when 
the stage brings more people than the hotel 
can accommodate, drummers and such, we are 
going to board them, and I am going to cook 
ham and eggs and make coffee and soda bis- 
cuits for them. Oh, it ’s such fun ! We ’ve 
planned it all out to the smallest detail.” 

“ What is Ted going to do ? ” asked Margy, 
to whom the plan seemed less attractive. 

“ Oh, we leave him out, just to tease him. 
I say he is to live here in New York, and send 
us each five dollars for Christmas, and a pict- 


THE OTHER LOUISE. 


79 


lire of little Ted. He did n’t see why he 
should n’t be in the fun as well as the rest of 
us. I explained that I did not think London- 
made trousers would look very well in a coun- 
try store ; but he said if shopkeeping was n’t 
too low down for Father, it was n’t too 
low down for his trousers. Besides, he 
should wear overalls. He said he had always 
longed to draw molasses out of a barrel and 
to have all the cinnamon he wanted to eat, and 
he was n’t going to lose the chance of having 
his dreams come true. In reality, you know, 
he would abominate it : — Ted is such an aristo- 
crat. Dear me, what a lot I ’ve been talking ! 
I don’t know when to stop when I get started. 
I ought to have gone for Mother long ago, so 
I ’ll have to drop you at school now.” 

Margy tried to tell Louise what a good time 
she had had, but was awkward and ungracious 
about it. She really had enjoyed her day tre- 
mendously. She had felt like a girl in a story- 
book, going to such a beautiful house, and being 
served in such state, and driving in so perfectly 
appointed a carriage. She liked Louise, too, 
immensely : she was wonderfully good com- 
pany, and had a charm about her that was ir- 
resistible. It was not till sometime later that 
Margy discovered what it was, — her perfect 


8o 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL . 


simplicity and naturalness. She was totally 
free from pretence or posing of any descrip- 
tion. 

Margy’s thoughts, naturally enough, went 
rapidly forward to the time when she and Lou- 
ise should be much better friends. Still, at the 
same time, she despaired of ever attracting 
her. Someway, all her confidence in herself 
had left her, and with it, her powers of con- 
versation. She had nothing to say. Her ex- 
pectations were not verified at that time. She 
caught nothing more than a passing glimpse 
of Louise for the next few weeks. Louise was 
pleasant and friendly when they did meet, but 
she had many friends and interests of her own 
that took up all her time. Margy was sure 
she never thought of her when she was not 
actually before her eyes, while Louise was 
seldom absent from her mind for long at a 
time. In fact, she divined Louise’s estimate 
of her as accurately as if she had heard the 
following remarks, which were made to Ted 
the evening of Margy’s visit : 

“ I like her better than I did, but she does 
not interest me in the least, she is so stiff and 
unresponsive. She never will let herself go and 
be herself, she is so afraid herself won’t be 
right ; and she is old-fashioned enough to be 


THE OTHER LOUISE. 


ashamed of being poor, and of her disadvan- 
tages generally. Now, I admire reserve tre- 
mendously when it is the real article, but not 
when it means just not speaking of the out- 
ward circumstances of your life. I was really 
anxious to hear something about Louise. I 
have always been interested in her since she 
was named for your mother, too ; but Margy 
would only answer my questions and not vol- 
unteer a thing. She was so afraid she would 
give it away that they don’t have champagne 
every night for dinner. I try to be nice to her, 
Ted, but it ’s dreadfully hard work. You work 
her up to the pitch of forgetting herself, and she 
is quite interesting, when, all at once, she re- 
members that inconvenient article, and is stiff 
and stupid again. I really liked her when she 
was talking about those old memoirs and let- 
ters I told you about.” 

“ Just you wait,” said Ted. “ I ’ll bet you 
a new tennis racket you like her a lot before 
the year is up. Margy ’s got the right stuff in 
her.” 

“All right,” said Louise, “a $7 racket. 
I ’ll write it here on the back of the telephone 
book. That ’s the only thing Joseph doesn’t 
hide somewhere out of sight.” 

“ He does n’t dare. He put it in the table 
$ 


82 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


drawer once, and I spoke to him about it. I 
wonder he allows us to have the chairs around. 
I never ask any one to play without looking to 
be sure he has n’t hidden the piano away in 
some undiscoverable place. Did I tell you I 
found my cap in the china closet ?” 


CHAPTER V. 


AN INSPIRATION. 

T HERE was one person in the school be- 
sides Miss Healey who seemed to be 
aware of Margy’s existence, and this was 
Miss Humphreys, the English teacher. Margy 
began by disliking her for the way she criti- 
cised her first essay. One of Margy’s most 
cherished beliefs about herself was that she 
could write well, and she held on to this the 
tighter that she had lost so many of the others. 
She did not stand so well in her studies as she 
had expected to do. The methods of study 
were so different, so much broader, so much 
more thorough than any she had been used to, 
that she found herself badly prepared. Even 
the old studies, such as Latin, presented en- 
tirely different aspects. She did not even know 
the meaning of the terms used in the class- 
room. Memorizing was at a discount ; and it 
was chiefly Margy’s excellent memory that had 
83 


8 4 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


won her such credit heretofore. Geometry, 
which she was beginning, was the only study 
in which she was able to stand even averagely 
well. It was the more mortifying that Louise 
was the bright particular star of most of her 
classes. Margy imagined her telling Ted how 
poorly she did, and his regretting having sent 
her to school, and feeling that all her boasted 
cleverness had been due merely to the com- 
parative stupidity of the people she lived 
among. She was far from guessing the truth, 
poor child ! — that she was of so little interest 
to either Ted or Louise that they had not men- 
tioned her name after the end of the conver- 
sation reported above. 

Consequently, Margy had taken great pains 
with her first essay, and had been sure it 
would be returned to her with some mark of 
praise. Instead, it came back a mass of criti- 
cisms in blue pencil. It was with a defiant 
spirit that she went to her essay interview with 
Miss Humphreys. She came out much hap- 
pier, much less forlorn, and yet Miss Hum- 
phreys had literally taken her essay to bits. 

“ Your style is good,” she told her, after 
she had criticised the essay in detail. “ It is 
smooth and easy, and you write as if you liked 
to. You use too long words though, and 


AN INSPIRATION. 


85 


are occasionally a little newspapery. For in- 
stance, you say, ‘ I fail to perceive.’ Now, 
what is the matter with 1 I do not see’ ? Is n’t 
it good enough? You don’t want to ‘bowl 
along a road,’ either. Then, you take other 
people’s thoughts instead of your own, al- 
though I am sure you have plenty. Next 
time, I want you to choose a subject out of 
your own experience, and write me about that. 
I remember I once wrote one about the last 
time I ever played with dolls. That is the 
kind I mean. Just for practice, I want you to 
confine yourself to words of one or two sylla- 
bles, unless, after some minutes’ thought, you 
cannot find one to express your idea ; and I 
don’t want you to use a single inversion. For 
instance, instead of, ‘ Hardly had I opened the 
book,’ I want you to say, ‘ I had hardly 
opened the book ’ ; and, what is more, I want 
you to think out my reason for this stipula- 
tion.” Miss Humphreys ended with a few 
more words of praise and encouragement in 
the sympathetic manner she had. Perhaps, 
part of Margy’s friendly feelings toward her at 
the end of this interview were due to her con- 
sciousness of having appeared well herself in 
the course of it, — a consciousness that she did 
not often have about this time. 


86 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


Thinking of what Louise had told her in 
Ted’s room, and remembering some experi- 
ences of her own, she chose for her subject the 
thoughts and terrors of an imaginative child 
in the dark ; and wrote such a charming, in- 
teresting, realistic little sketch that it surprised 
even herself. Miss Humphreys was so pleased 
with it that she read it aloud to the English 
class. After this, they became very good 
friends. Miss Humphreys took Margy out 
with her occasionally, and Margy often spent 
Sunday evening in her room. Sunday even- 
ings were peculiarly dismal and forlorn ; — 
Sunday was such a lonely day. Ted came to 
see her once or twice at first ; but, as the sea- 
son advanced, he had so many engagements 
that he had hardly time to remember a person 
who interested him as little as she did. 

One Sunday evening, Margy was feeling es- 
pecially unhappy. The girls were all in each 
other’s rooms, having a pleasant sociable time, 
and she knew there was not one who would 
welcome her, — not one whose welcome she 
cared for, that is ; for an intimacy with any but 
the most sought after and desirable girls did 
not appeal to her. She could be friendless ; 
but she would not put up with any second-rate 
friends, even when the second-rateness was 


AN INSRIRA TION. 


*7 


only social. Louise Meredith had not spoken 
to her for two weeks, and Ted had not been 
to see her, or sent her a line or a message. 
One comforting thought was that the holidays 
would come in a few weeks ; and, for once in 
her life, Margy thought regretfully and long- 
ingly of the home she had always despised so 
much. At length she grew so wretched that 
she made up her mind to go to Miss Hum- 
phreys’ room for a little comfort. She found 
her writing a letter. 

“ Come in, Margy,” she said, &s Margy was 
about to go away again. “Come in and sit down. 
I am just finishing. What have you been doing 
with yourself all day ? ” she asked when she had 
addressed and stamped the envelope. 

“ Nothing much,” said Margy. “ I tried to 
read, but, someway, I don’t care for reading 
as I used to. I don’t know why it is, but it 
bores me, and I have always liked it better 
than anything else on earth.” 

“ I can tell you why,” said Miss Humphreys. 
“ You are beginning to be interested in people, 
and that always makes books seem flat for a 
time. Don’t try to read, — you have read ten 
times as much as most girls of your age, as it 
is — but make friends of the girls. It will do 
you much more good.” 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


88 


“ I can’t, Miss Humphreys. I don’t know 
how. They don’t like me, and I am too proud, 
or too something, to try and make them.” It 
took a great effort for Margy to confess this, 
but she was so unhappy she felt she must speak 
of her troubles to somebody. 

“You appear at a disadvantage to them. If 
they knew you as I do, they would like you. 
But — I am going to speak very frankly to you, 
Margy, even if you do not feel it to be a kind- 
ness now — your manner is against you. You 
often seem stiff and ungracious, when I know 
you are only shy and self-conscious. You do 
not meet the girls half way ; and are so afraid 
you will act as if you wanted to be friends with 
them that you repel them. And then, Margy, 
— I have often wanted to say this to you — 
your way of speaking is not natural. I don’t 
mean that you consciously put it on, or are 
aware that it is not natural. Shall I go on ?” 
Margy had hidden her face in the back of her 
chair, and was crying, but she said humbly 
enough : 

“ Yes, please do.” 

“ It is hard to describe what I mean. For 
one thing, you put an artificial sweetness, an 
ultra refinement in your voice. I often think 
of the phrase ‘ honeyed accents ’ when I hear 


AN INSPIRATION. 


89 


you speak, and the less you know people, the 
more noticeable it is. You often drop it en- 
tirely when you are talking with me. Now, 
what I want you to do is to take some sentence 
and say it over and over to yourself, trying to 
distinguish your natural voice from your com- 
pany voice, and you will soon see what I mean. 
Did any one ever speak to you about this be- 
fore ? ” 

“ Yes,” Margy answered through her tears, 
“Mother and Louise have lots of times, but I 
thought they did n’t know ; and Ted did once.” 

Before bedtime, Margy and Miss Hum- 
phreys had a long talk, and Margy went to bed 
happier and more hopeful than she had been 
for some time. She had confessed many of 
her troubles to Miss Humphreys, and had 
been comforted by her assurance that the girls 
would like her when they knew her, if she 
overcame her affectation. She added that she 
did not think a girl of Margy’s will power 
would have any great difficulty in doing it. 
Margy not only liked Miss Humphreys and 
admired her intellect, but respected her social 
knowledge. She had travelled a great deal, 
and had known many people, and — what was 
more in Margy’s eyes — was always well, though 
simply dressed, a great contrast to the despised 


9 o 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


Miss Green. She had a small income of her 
own, though not enough to live on. Margy 
profited by her lecture to such an extent that 
a considerable improvement was noticeable by 
the time she went home. Her mother made 
her angry by commenting on it ; for Margy 
was as sensitive about slurs on her past self as 
her present, and any praise of the latter at the 
expense of the former irritated her. 

Just before the Christmas holidays, the man 
who tended the furnace and did all that sort 
of thing around the school had the misfortune 
to break his leg. He had a wife and two chil- 
dren dependent on him, and the girls became 
much interested in his case. He had always 
been civil and obliging, and every one liked 
him. They tried to think of some way to help 
him, and finally gained Miss Healey’s consent 
to give an entertainment for his benefit. They 
had some difficulty getting this, as Miss Healey 
disliked anything of the sort. She never had 
entertainments or public exercises of any kind 
at her school, having a low opinion of amateur 
performances generally, and of school-girl ones 
in particular. Miss Healey won over, a com- 
mittee of the boarders was appointed and given 
until after the holidays to think it over. Miss 
Healey had stipulated that it should not take 


AN INSPIRATION. 


9i 


place until the half-yearly examinations were 
over. Edith Sandelin was chairman, a girl 
whom Margy looked up to and admired more 
than any of the others except Louise Meredith. 
She was pretty and well dressed, and had a 
strong personal charm besides. She was as 
popular in the school as her indifference to all 
but her own personal friends would allow. 
Margy always felt pleased and flattered if she 
spoke to her, or noticed her in any way. She 
and Louise Meredith were great friends, 
and Edith often stayed over Sunday with 
Louise. 

A farce was talked about, but the difficulty 
was to find one that would be suitable for girls 
to act. One day, when they were talking it 
over at table, a brilliant idea came to Margy, — 
she would try to write one herself. She said 
nothing about her plan, but thought of it day 
and night, until she had an inspiration on the 
train going home. She was feeling very happy 
at the prospect ; and then, Ted had taken her 
down to the station, the first time she had seen 
him for a month, and had sent all sorts of jolly, 
friendly messages to her mother and Louise. 
The motion of the train, which is always stimu- 
lating, made her brain work as it had never 
done before, and long before she got home, 


9 2 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


she had planned out the whole plot and a good 
deal of the dialogue. 

The next afternoon, after her mother and 
Louise had gone down to their weekly sewing 
circle, Margy hunted up an old exercise book 
and began. She was astonished at the ease 
with which she got on. It had seemed a hope- 
less task to work out the complications, but, to 
her surprise, they worked themselves out. J okes 
and clever speeches came to her by the dozen, 
and yet she never made them in real life. By 
the time Louise and her mother came home, 
she had written all the first scene : — it was to 
be in two scenes. She finished it in the next 
two days, and then read it to her family. 
To Margy’s delight, they were enthusiastic 
over it. Louise thought it ought to be printed, 
it was so clever ; and tears came into Mrs. 
Brooks’ eyes as she planned a successful literary 
career for Margy. Margy had the greatest 
difficulty in making them promise not to speak 
of it to any one. Mrs. Brooks finally compro- 
mised on Miss Green and Miss Mayhew : she 
would tell them about it, and no one else. 

Margy spent the rest of her vacation in 
altering her clothes to an humble imitation of 
New York fashions. She was clever with her 
needle, and Louise was cleverer, and now that 


AN INSPIRATION 


93 


they had the right ideas, they made a great 
improvement in her wardrobe. All the tawdry 
gilt braid and buttons on her street suit were 
replaced with black, and sleeves more in accor- 
dance with the prevailing styles were made 
out of the extra material Mrs. Brooks always 
bought for making over. Nothing could be 
done for the hat. Besides, Margy was too 
proud to confess that it was a failure, as it 
had been bought originally under protest. 

The day school opened, the entertainment 
was discussed at dinner. Edith Sandelin, in 
answer to Miss Healey’s questions, said she 
had found a little play that they thought would 
do, although they were not exactly satisfied 
with it. She would bring it to Miss Healey, 
and see what she thought of it. The com- 
mittee were discouraged : they could not find 
anything that suited them exactly. 

That evening, a little before bedtime, Margy 
knocked at the door of Edith’s room. If 
Edith was surprised to see her, she did not 
show it, but invited her in quite cordially. 
Margy was so nervous she could not remember 
any of the openings she had prepared, but blun- 
dered out : 

“ I brought you a play I wrote myself. 
Please don’t say you like it if you don’t,” and 


94 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


turning, she almost ran down the hall before 
Edith had time to do more than receive the 
MS. An hour later, she came to Margy’s 
room. It was after the lights were out, and 
Margy was in bed. Edith sat down on the 
edge of the bed. 

“Miss Healey said I might come, if I didn’t 
stay longer than half an hour,” she explained, 
and then plunged in medias res : “It’s per- 
fectly splendid ! How did you ever write it ! 
I read it to Miss Healey, and she is delighted 
with it too. All those local hits will take 
wonderfully, and I know just the girls for most 
of the parts! Minnie Savage can be Will. You 
know she is a splendid actress, and a part like 
that will just suit her ; and Sally Garnis is just 
the one for Nelly ! Oh dear, Margy, I had no 
idea you were so clever ! ” 

Margy blushed with pleasure at this speech, 
although it was too dark for Edith to see it. 
Praise from Edith Sandelin’s lips was very 
sweet, and then her tone was so cordial and 
friendly, such a change from the indifferent 
one she had used on former occasions. She 
had called her “ Margy,” too. All Margy said, 
however, was : 

“ I ’m so glad you like it. I was afraid I 
thought it was good because I wrote it.” 


AN INSPIRATION. 


95 


“ Good ! — that ’s a mild word for it. It ’s — 
a masterpiece,” she finished, with a little laugh. 
Margy laughed too, with happiness. 

“ Can you act yourself, Margy ? ” Edith 
went on. 

“ Oh dear, no ! ” answered Margy. “ I have 
less than no gift that way. I ’m too self-con- 
scious, for one thing, and then I should be 
frightened silly.” 

“ That’s too bad,” said Edith, and then she 
began to talk of the play in detail, and to 
praise its good points. 

“ I am so glad you saw all the jokes. I was 
afraid they might not be clear,” said Margy. 

“ I ’d be stupid if I did n’t, they are so clever. 
I say, didn’t you have Ted Meredith in your 
mind when you thought out Will?” 

“Yes: but he isn’t like Ted, — noticeably 
so, that is.” 

“Oh, no. Nobody would think of it who 
did n’t know Ted very well. I fancy, though, 
that Ted was just such a mischief when he was 
Will’s age. Oh, dear ! The half hour must 
be up. Before I go, I want to say that Miss 
Healey and I decided that, if you did n’t 
mind, it would be better to keep the whole 
thing a profound secret from every one except 
the committee and the actors. We will let 


9 6 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


the rest of the girls think we are going to have 
the other play. The number of tickets is so 
limited that we won’t have any difficulty of dis- 
posing of them anyway, especially as all the 
day-scholars knew old John, and are so inter- 
ested. I am not going to breathe it even to 
Louise Meredith.” 

“ Does n’t she act?” asked Margy. 

“ I don’t think she ever tried, but I am sure 
she would do it splendidly. We decided, how- 
ever, not to have any but boarders in it, and, 
of course, we can’t make an exception. Be- 
sides, Mrs. Meredith would n’t want Louise to 
do it. She hates the idea of girls doing any- 
thing in public. I don’t mean that she thinks 
it would hurt Louise in any way, but she thinks 
it is better form not to. Still, if it were not 
for the other reason, I don’t think she would 
mind, as only the day-scholars and their fam- 
ily and friends are to come. It is to be in 
Green’s Hall, you know, and that won’t seat 
very many. John used to be janitor there, 
and Mr. Fallon, the owner, heard that we were 
thinking of giving an entertainment for his 
benefit, and came and offered the hall to us 
for nothing. Was n’t that nice of him ? You 
know the Friday Night Club have their theat- 
ricals there every winter. But I must skip. 


AN INSPIRATION. 


97 


I ’m a thousand times obliged to you, more 
than I can say. You have taken a great load 
off my mind.” 

Edith was very nice to Margy after that, 
and insisted on her attending all the rehears- 
als and giving suggestions. She found her- 
self, all at once, a person of importance to 
the few who knew the secret. What pleased 
her more than anything, however, was the 
prospect of astonishing Louise Meredith and 
Miss Humphreys in the near future. She 
knew Ted would n’t come, even if he knew 
she wrote it, as he despised private theatricals 
in any form. 

The week of the half-yearly examinations, 
rehearsals and stage talk were put completely 
aside by the girls who were preparing for col- 
lege. The others still took a desultory inter- 
est. Margy was so absorbed that she almost 
forgot she had written a play. The examina- 
tion for which she had worked the hardest 
was geometry. It was the only subject in 
which she had started on an equal footing with 
the rest of the girls, in which she was not 
hampered by lack of previous training. Be- 
sides the regular examination, there was to be 
a second voluntary one in original work, for 
which Miss Taylor had offered a set of Char- 


9 8 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


lotte Bronte as a prize. She had announced 
this the first of the term. 

“ I have never believed in offering prizes,” 
she had said, “ but I have been so unsuccess- 
ful in interesting my last two classes in origi- 
nal work, that I decided to try some other plan. 
So when I had two sets of Charlotte Bronte s 
works given me on my birthday, I thought I 
would try the effect of one of those as an in- 
centive. I will give the usual amount of orig- 
inal work in the regular examination, and then 
a special one for those who care to compete.” 
Now Margy had always wanted a set of Char- 
lotte Bronte, and this one was a beauty. Be- 
sides, she had a longing to show the girls by 
some definite act, as the winning of a prize, 
that she was not so stupid as she appeared. 
Consequently, every spare moment, even rec- 
reation hours, had been spent working out 
problems and reviewing those she had already 
done. 

The night before the examination, she lay 
awake nearly all night, going over problems 
in her head, and in consequence, her head 
ached and she felt tired and stupid when she 
went to the class-room. To Miss Taylors 
delight, fully three fourths of the class were 
going to compete. The examination con- 


AN INSPIRA TION. 


99 


sisted of five problems, all of which had been 
given to the girls at various times, but none 
of which had been demonstrated in class. 
Margy stuck on the very first one of all. It 
was one she had solved, but she could not 
remember how a certain auxiliary line ought 
to be drawn. Her brain was stupid, and re- 
fused to work. She gave it up in despair and 
went on to the others. Fortunately, there 
were ones she was very familiar with. After 
working them without much difficulty, she 
went back to number one, and was gazing 
hopelessly at that, when a maid came into the 
room with a letter for Miss Taylor. The 
opening of the door made a draft that blew a 
sheet of paper off Louise Meredith’s desk 
down to the floor beside her. Louise stooped 
and picked it up, but not before Margy’s far- 
sighted eyes had taken in the figure drawn on 
it. It was number one, and the bothersome 
auxiliary line was drawn in proper position. 
In an instant the solution of the problem 
flashed upon her mind, and she worked it out 
without any trouble. 

When the examination was over, Margy 
lingered until all the girls had gone, except 
Louise Meredith, who had settled down at her 
desk to study. Margy walked up to the desk 


IOO 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


where Miss Taylor was sitting, looking over 
some of the papers, and said in a low voice : 
“ I want to tell you something, Miss Taylor. 
I do not think I could have worked the first 
problem, if Miss Meredith’s paper had not 
blown in front of me, and I saw how to draw 
this line E — F.” 

“ Did you see the solution ? ” asked Miss 
Taylor. 

“No: there was nothing on the paper but 
the figure. I should not have handed it in if 
I had.” Margy lifted her head proudly as 
she said this. Miss Taylor smiled. 

“ Well, I will take that point into consider- 
ation, if the competition is close,” she said. 
“ I like that girl,” she went on to Louise when 
Margy had shut the door behind her. “ Do 
you notice she is not nearly so affected as 
when she first came ? ” 

“ I think she is a brick,” said Louise, inele- 
gantly. 

“ There was n’t a particle of ostentation in 
what she just did,” continued Miss Taylor. 
“ It was evidently not done for effect in the 
least, but because it seemed the honest thing 
to do. I know she is extremely anxious for 
the prize. Miss Humphreys says she has 
longed for a set of Charlotte Bronte for years. 


AN INSPIRATION. 


IOI 


I hope your paper won’t be better than hers, 
Louise.” 

“I hope not, too, Miss Taylor, really and 
truly, but I am afraid I did them all. Still, 
you would n’t let a little thing like that decide 
it, if she has done all the others, would you ? 
Very probably she would have thought how 
to draw the line herself. I don’t think it ought 
to count.” 

“ If that was n’t just like Louise,” Miss Tay- 
lor said to Miss Humphreys, later on. “Of 
course, she does n’t care for the books. In 
fact, I believe she has a set of them already ; 
but I know she is very anxious to win on her 
father’s account. He is always so much pleased 
at anything like this. She has the clearest 
sense of justice, even when it is against her 
own personal advantage, of any girl I know.” 

“ Poor Margy ! ” said Miss Humphreys. 
“ She does care so much for possessions, and 
she has so few. I accuse her of taking some 
silver toilet articles of hers to bed with her. 
She certainly spends ten minutes a day rub- 
bing them up.” 

Louise did get the prize. She and Margy 
were the only ones who had worked all the 
problems. After all, the decision had rested 
on the line, for Margy’s solution of the prob- 


102 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


lem had been so much simpler and clearer 
than Louise’s that otherwise she would have 
had the prize. Louise was almost as much 
disappointed as Margy. She came to Margy’s 
room before school on the following day to 
express her regret. 

“It was just because Miss Taylor wanted to 
give it to you, and she is always so afraid of be- 
ing partial that she goes to the other extreme,” 
she said. “ And now I am going to ask you 
to do something for me,” she went on as she 
got up to go. “ I got a set of Charlotte Bronte 
last Christmas, and I want you to let me give 
that to you. Naturally, I don’t care for two, 
and it would make me feel so much more com- 
fortable. It was just an accident my getting 
all those problems, for I have n’t begun to do as 
well as you in original work. Miss Taylor 
just happened to hit on ones I knew. You 
will take it, won’t you ? Please, — Margy.” 
The “ Margy” decided it. 

“ I should be very glad to have it,” she said 
simply. 

“ Oh, jolly ! ” exclaimed Louise. “ I was so 
afraid you would n’t. I left the books in the 
hall on the chance, though.” She flew out of 
the room, and came back in a minute with an 
armful of beautifully bound books. “ It ’s the 


AN INSPIRATION ; 


103 

same edition, but a different binding,” she ex- 
plained. 

“ They are perfectly beautiful, — much pret- 
tier than the others !” Margy exclaimed. 

“ Don’t let Miss Taylor hear you say that. 
I like the others just as well.” 

“ But the person who gave you these ?” 

began Margy. 

“It was only Father, and he gave me a 
dozen other things at the same time. He likes 
to have me do with his things whatever gives 
me most pleasure. Besides, to be quite honest, 
it was he who suggested my giving you these 
when I told them all about it last night. My 
brain was too tired to think up such a happy 
thought.” 


CHAPTER VI. 


A TRIUMPH. 

L ATE one evening, a week after this con- 
versation, Louise Meredith rushed up, 
two steps at a time, from the first to the 
fourth story of her father’s house, and burst in 
the gymnasium door. Consequently, she did n’t 
have breath enough left to answer Ted’s ques- 
tion as to what was the matter, but sank gasp- 
ing into a chair. Ted had been performing on 
the parallel bars, but he stopped and balanced 
himself on one of them, waiting until Louise 
could speak. 

“That was a sensible proceeding,” he re- 
marked severely. “ I heard you all the way, 
and wondered if the house was on fire, or what. 
Why can’t you come up-stairs like a rational 
being ? ” 

“ It ’s all very well for you to talk, when you 
always take three steps, and come up as hard 
as you can tear,” gasped Louise. 


104 


A TRIUMPH ; 


io 5 

“ I ’m not a girl,” — with a scornful emphasis 
on the last word. 

“ No, but you ’d wish you were, if you ’d been 
where I was to-night.” 

“Oh, I suppose Edith or Sally or Mary or 
Ethel was just divine, a regular Bernhardt or 
Terry, and enraptured the audience. Someway, 
I never see the wonderful actors and actresses 
you do when I go to amateur performances.” 

“You are just too horrid for words, Ted 
Meredith. Was n’t she kind to-night, or was 
an English accent too powerful a rival ? I have 
half a mind not to tell you about it at all.” 

“You ’d punish yourself more than me. I 
am sure I don’t want to hear it,” and Ted went 
on with his gymnastics. Louise got up, picked 
up the wrap she had dropped, and walked 
with dignity down a flight of stairs to her own 
room. 

The next morning, when she had just started 
to take her exercise, Ted came up and joined 
her. He had his gymnasium suit on. 

“ Have n’t you been to bed at all?” Louise 
asked coldly, “or have you been writing poetry 
and serenading the moon all night ? ” 

“ Unfortunately, there was n’t any moon and 
I can’t write poetry, so I had to go to bed. I 
say, Louise, I was horrid last night. It was 


IO 6 AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 

only that I thought something was the matter 
when I heard you running so.” 

“ All right. I ’m sorry I upset your delicate 
nerves. There — that was horrid too. I did n’t 
mean it.” 

“ Too little sleep and too much smoking, 
that ’s what ’s the matter with me,” explained 
Ted. “ But what was it, Louise, what were 
you going to tell me ?” 

“ It was about Margy Brooks. Do you know, 
she wrote the play the girls acted last night, 
every word of it, and it was the cleverest thing 
of the kind I ever heard, and it made the big- 
gest hit ! Everybody laughed until they were 
tired, and the hall was jammed. You see, it is 
the first time Miss Healey has ever let her girls 
do anything, and, consequently, all the parents 
and friends were anxious to go.” 

“ But tell me about the play. What was it 
about ? ” 

“Well, there are two boarding-schools near 
each other in a country town, — a girls’ school 
kept by a Miss Perkins, and a boys’ by a Mr. 
McMasters. One afternoon, when they think 
Miss Perkins is safely out of the way, three of 
the boys dress up in girls’ clothes, and come 
over to have some fun with the girls. Some of 
the girls dress up in some men’s coats and uni- 


A TRIUMPH. 


107 

forms and things they had for theatricals, and 
they are having a howling good time acting 
Shakespeare when Miss Perkins walks in on 
them. The girls introduce the boys as their 
sisters who have unexpectedly come to see 
them, and explain their own costume on the 
ground of just having had a rehearsal of a play. 
It ’s perfectly rich where the boys try to talk to 
the principal in girls’ style, and to be girlish 
generally. Their figures are lovely, and the 
old lady compliments them on being sensible 
enough not to wear stays, as she calls them. 
The boys get dreadfully embarrassed, and 
tumble all over themselves. They get horribly 
mixed as to whose sisters they are, and make 
dreadful breaks. For instance, one of the boys, 
Will, says he is fifteen years and three months 
old, and as the girl whose sister he pretends to 
be had her fifteenth birthday the week before, 
Miss Perkins is puzzled. She comes to the 
conclusion that the girl, whose name is Nelly, 
told her a lie so as to be allowed to have a box 
from home, and that her family have connived 
at it. Well, she reproves Nelly, and she first 
thinks she is being scolded for something else, 
and makes explanations that puzzle the old 
lady still more ; and when she does under- 
stand, she can’t make any explanation at all, 


ioS AN UN LESSONED GIRL. 

you see ; and there are endless complications 
and perplexities. The boys try to get away, 
but Miss Perkins insists on their staying to 
supper, hoping to get them into her school. 
Finally, they get out of the room on an excuse, 
all but Will, whom she detains. She intends 
to give him and Nelly a sermon on the sin of 
deception ; her conscience will not let her 
allow the occasion to go by without throwing 
in some moral reflections. Well, just as she 
is about to begin, a servant comes in and says 
that Mrs. McMasters wants to see her about 
a cook, and will not detain her more than a 
minute or two. Miss Perkins tells the maid 
to show her in, and won’t let Will and Nelly 
go away for fear of Will’s escaping that lec- 
ture. Will does n’t know what to do, but at 
a suggestion from Nelly, which he is slow to 
catch on to, he has a sudden toothache come 
on, and has to lie down on the sofa, and have 
his head covered with a shawl. It ’s perfectly 
rich where he tries to manage his skirts as he 
gets on the sofa. A real boy could do it still 
more funnily, of course. The conversation 
between the two old ladies about the cook is 
immense. Margy says she has heard old 
women at her home talk just so. When Mrs. 
McMasters hears about Will’s toothache, she 


A TRIUMPH ; 


109 

immediately wants to see it. Nelly explains 
that a particle of light coming to it would 
make him crazy with pain, that it is a peculi- 
arity of their family, and tells a ridiculous yarn 
about her fathers toothaches. Then, Mrs. 
McMasters proposes the most outlandish 
remedies that she has never known to fail. 
Will gets shaking with laughter, and the old 
ladies think he is sobbing with the pain, and 
tell him to ‘ cry if he wants to,’ which makes him 
laugh all the harder. Oh, dear ! I am just 
spoiling this. I won’t tell you about the 
denoiiment. You must get Margy to let you 
read it. Of course, it all comes out, but they 
are forgiven in the end.” 

“ You are not going to leave me in suspense 
this way. Fire ahead, Louise. I ’ll risk your 
spoiling it.” 

“Well, I ’ll just tell you this. The house 
gets on fire, thanks to a Macbeth scene they 
had been acting, and the boys put it out, be- 
hind the scenes, of course, and save some of 
Miss Perkins’s most precious heirlooms from 
being burned up. She does n’t know they 
were the cause of the fire, of course, and is so 
grateful that she forgives them without even a 
reproof. She is delighted, too, at finding that 
Nelly, who was her favorite, had not lied about 


I IO 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


her birthday. It is lovely where the fire is 
going on behind the scenes, and everyone 
brings in their dearest possessions and piles 
them up. The whole was just as funny as it 
could be from beginning to end. I can tell 
you I wished you were there.” 

“ I wish I had been. It must have been 
immense. How did Margy take it ? ” 

“ I never liked her so well. It agrees with 
her to have people make a fuss over her. I 
always thought she was a little conceited, but 
I guess it was only because she felt she was 
being underrated, and that made her a little 
aggressive.” 

“ I never thought she was more conceited 
than most girls of her age,” Ted remarked. 

“ Thank you,” said Louise. 

“ O now ! Come off ! ” and Ted fired a box- 
ing glove at her head, as he lay at full length 
on the mattress under the parallel bars. Louise 
was sitting in the same chair she sat in the 
night before. 

“ She looked so pretty, too, Ted,” she went 
on, dodging the glove. “ She had on a white 
India silk, made so simply, with great full 
sleeves, and ruffles of the loveliest Valenci- 
ennes lace, and the most beautiful old-fashioned 
belt buckle of light blue enamel and gold. 


A TRIUMPH. 


hi 


Edith said her mother and Louise gave her 
the silk for Christmas, and she and her mother 
made the dress all themselves. The lace and 
the buckle were Mrs. Brooks’s. Her hair was 
just parted and done up simply, and it looked 
so soft and pretty. Everybody was speaking 
of how nice she looked, and she is n’t nearly 
so affected as she was either. The audience 
insisted on her coming before the curtain, but 
she positively refused to do it, until Miss 
Healey went for her and made her, and then 
she just came out, and almost ran off the 
stage. It was really something remarkable, 
seeing that she ’s only sixteen.” 

“How I wish I had been there!” repeated 
Ted. Then went on : “I don’t suppose at 
her age, no matter how much talent she had, 
she could have written any other kind of thing 
that would have been really good, but a play 
is different. It’s the situations so much more 
than the wording, and there is so much acci- 
dent about a successful play.” 

“ I suppose not ; but the dialogue was 
wonderfully clever too. When Edith first 
read it, she thought it would be lots nicer 
to have real boys, and was afraid the girls 
would seem so much like girls that the audi- 
ence would n’t know they were boys except by 


12 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL . 


their lines. Well, that ’s the funny part of it. 
They did n’t at all. They were made up so 
well and acted so well that you knew they 
were boys the minute they came on the stage. 
Minnie Savage was the best. She had the 
funniest little boyish ways. Oh, if you had 
seen her hunting for her pocket in her girl’s 
dress. She mapped it out into sections and 
instituted a thorough search. She was Will, 
you know. No, I don’t think it could be im- 
proved upon ; and the best of it is that the 
play would do just as well for grown-ups to 
act. Dear me ! It ’s breakfast time, and I am 
not dressed, and I have n’t taken a scrap of 
exercise ! ” 

“ I am more pleased than I can say at this,” 
said Ted. 

“ I think you are going to have the pleasure 
of saying 1 I told you so,’ and I think you are 
going to have a $7 racket.” With these words, 
Louise put her hand on the bars, vaulted over 
Ted’s head, and was out the door and down- 
stairs in her room before he had time to sit up. 

That same Saturday afternoon, Miss Healey 
sent for Margy to come to her. She had been 
out all the morning, and had only just come 
in, and was having a cup of tea and some bread 
and butter in her room. 


A TRIUMPH. 


Ir 3 

“ Come in. I have a piece of good news for 
you,” she said. “You know Mrs. Wiley, the 
editor of Little People , was a classmate of mine 
at college ; so I took her down your farce this 
morning, and she offers you $35 for it. She 
says the children are always asking through 
the * Post-office ’ for plays that boys and girls 
can act, and she thinks yours is just the thing. 
Shall I tell her you will take it ? ” 

“ Well, I should say so ! $35 ! How per- 

fectly lovely ! My dear Miss Healey, how 
kind you were to think of it ! ” Margy 
was looking very pretty and happy. Praise 
and approval generally always brought out 
what was best in her. She could be anything 
that her world thought she was. Its good 
opinion gave her self-confidence, in which she 
was greatly deficient, in spite of many girlish 
vanities and conceits. 

“ I thought you would take it, so she gave 
me the money for you.” Miss Healey opened 
her purse, and took out a little roll of bills, 
which she handed to Margy. She was still 
trying to express her pleasure to Miss Healey 
when the maid came up with Mr. Edward Van 
Dyke Meredith’s card. 

“ He has come to congratulate you,” said Miss 
Healey, “ and if he should want you to go out 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


anywhere with him, you need not come and ask 
me. Just tell someone what time you expect 
to be back ! ” 

“Oh, I don’t believe he does. My clothes 
are too shabby for him to enjoy taking me 
around.” Margy laughed as she said this. 
Shabby clothes, before so vital, seemed a slight 
matter now that she had the power to buy new 
ones. 

“ Oh, a distinguished authoress in shabby 
clothes is a very different person from a hum- 
ble school-girl,” said Miss Healey. Margy 
laughed again for answer as she went out of 
the room. Miss Healey knew what she was 
about when she made remarks like the above 
to Margy. She had studied her closely, and 
had seen how her nature softened and bright- 
ened in the sunshine of approval. Instead of 
making her conceited, praise seemed to nerve 
her to show she was worthy of it, while dis- 
approval discouraged her, and brought out 
what was worst, at the same time that it made 
her appear self-assertive and conceited in her 
natural desire of making people see the good 
points they apparently would not recognize. 
When these good points were once openly ac- 
knowledged, she herself was the first to make 
light of them. 


A TRIUMPH. 


“5 

Margy was still holding the little roll of bills 
tightly in her hand when she went to Ted in 
the drawing-room. Her face was so bright and 
happy that it reminded him of the days before 
she entered upon the disagreeable process of 
Growing Up. 

“How I wish I had been there!” he ex- 
claimed, after he had congratulated her 
warmly. 

“ Why, would you have come ? ” asked 
Margy. 

“ Well, I wonder. You see, I feel as if any 
distinction you win here were partly my own, 
seeing as I was the author of the scheme. I 
was very much annoyed at Louise for getting 
the geometry prize, and I told her so.” 

“ She ought to have had it,” said Margy. 
“ She is always so much more accurate than I. 
But look here, Ted.” She opened her hand 
and showed him the bills. 

“ What ’s that ? ” he asked. 

“ Money, genuine money,” and she told him 
how she got it. 

“ Good for you, Margy. You ’ll make us 
all proud of you some day. What are you 
going to do with all this wealth ? ” 

“ There are so many things I want to buy. 
I ’d like to spend it all on myself, but I suppose 


n6 AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 

it would be better for my moral nature to spend 
some of it on mother and Louise.” They both 
laughed at this. “ Not but that I ’d like to do 
that, too, only the deficiencies of my wardrobe 
are always with me, and mother and Louise 
are so far away. Do you think $5 would be 
enough to absolve me from the sin of selfish- 
ness ? ” 

“ $5 ! That ’s two fifty each, is n’t it ? Why, 
that ’s magnificent ! I am afraid you will give 
them ideas above their position in life if you 
squander all that on them.” 

“ I think I ’ll risk it. They shall have $5, 
— that ’s one-seventh of my wealth, and the 
Bible only tells us to give one-tenth to the 
poor. With the remaining six-sevenths, I 
shall buy a new coat and hat and a pair of 
gloves.” 

“ You don’t expect to get all that for $30.” 

“ Indeed I do. I never had that much to 
spend all at once in my life. I know of a nice 
milliner’s on Sixth Avenue, where they are 
very reasonable. Minnie Savage gets her 
hats there, and they are always pretty.” 

“ I ’ll take you around there now and help 
you squander your wealth,” volunteered Ted. 
“ You did n’t know I was a connoisseur.” 

“ Louise Meredith said you thought you 


A TRIUMPH ; 


117 

knew a lot, and always made a fuss if her 
clothes were not to your taste.” Margy 
skipped out of the room as she said this. 

“Where shall we go first?” asked Ted, as 
they went down the steps. 

“ Oh, to the milliner s. I hope to get some- 
thing ready trimmed. Minnie says they have 
some lovely things.” 

“ I think you ought to pay my car fare, see- 
ing that you are so rich,” began Ted. 

“Very well. I ’ll give you a nickel. I ’m 
going to walk myself.” 

“ I ’ll have to, too, then. I could n’t let you 
and your wealth run the risk of foot-pads and 
sand-baggers unprotected. It might have got 
around, you know. Sha n’t I carry your purse ? 
It is a very pretty one, by the way. Some 
person of excellent taste must have selected 
it.” 

“It isn’t real,” explained Margy. “It’s 
just imitation leather and silver, bought be- 
cause it was cheap. It was given me at Christ- 
mas by a relative. Consequently I have to 
use it. It doesn’t do to offend relatives, you 
know, even stingy ones.” 

“ Well, you are a grateful person. If I ever 
come across that relative, I will tell him what 
you said. If there is one thing I believe in, 


n8 AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 

it is in unmasking hypocrisy. No doubt, you 
wrote him an elaborate note of thanks, said it 
filled a long-felt want, that you doted on its 
shape, and that he was too kind and generous 
to live, and all the rest of it. Never mind, 
young woman, that is the last present you will 
get from him, if I have any influence over 
him.” 

“Very well. He never gives me anything 
worth having anyway. But here is the place. 
Now is the chance to show what stuff you are 
made of, as I am going to have out every hat 
in the store.” Margy was better than her 
word. It did not take her ten minutes to find 
one ready trimmed that both she and Ted pro- 
nounced just the thing. She joyfully left her 
old hat to be sent back to Miss Healey’s, pri- 
vately resolving to give it to the maid as soon 
as it came home, and walked proudly into the 
street with the new one on. 

“ My, but it does make a difference ! ” ex- 
claimed Ted, looking with admiration at his 
cousin’s pretty face. “ It ’s tremendously be- 
coming, Margy, and dirt cheap.” 

“Well, you see it’s so simple. Still, I 
think $8 was a bargain. As the woman said, 
I should never have got it for that if it were n’t 
so late in the season. Now, let ’s go to Alt- 


A TRIUMPH. 


119 


man’s for my coat. You don’t mind walking, 
do you ? I do so love to walk in the city where 
there are interesting shop windows. I do love 
a city anyway, and feeling that there are lots 
of people around, and that any one may be 
the nicest person you have ever known. I 
wish I did n’t have to live in the country.” 

“ Just wait till you have lived years in the 
city, if you ever do. Then you will long for 
the country more intensely than you do for 
the city now, unless you are a very different 
kind of person from what I think you are, that 
is. Sometimes, I wake up in the morning 
with an overpowering desire to step out into 
mountain air, and to smell woodsy odors and 
country smells.” 

“ You are the queerest mixture,” said Margy. 
“ Sometimes, you talk so old and seriously, and, 
again, you act like a little boy.” 

“ That is what Louise is always saying. She 
says I am the oldest and youngest person of 
my age she ever knew.” 

“ How does she account for it?” 

“ She says it is because I have thought and 
read so much more than I have experienced. 
She advised me to fall in love as the best 
means of correcting this. I howled at this, 
and asked her how she knew so much ; and she 


120 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


said that anything that had been said so often 
as that ‘women knew things by intuition’ 
must be true. We got into an argument 
about that, and let my education slide. I mean 
to tackle her again some day. Here you are, 
Margy. This way, Madam.” 

They looked over a great number of coats, 
but found nothing at about $20 that satisfied 
either of them. At last, the saleswoman 
brought out a plain dark one, lined with satin, 
that they both took a fancy to immediately. 
Margy put it on and walked off to where two 
mirrors stood back to back. It fitted her 
perfectly and was very becoming. 

“ How much is it ? ” asked Ted. 

“$35,” answered the woman. 

“Tell her it is $18, and I ’ll pay the dif- 
ference,” he said. Margy came back in a 
minute exclaiming : 

“It is just what I like, but I am afraid it is 
too expensive.” She was delighted when she 
found it was within her means, and bought it 
on the spot. 

She felt very happy and altogether satisfied 
when, after buying some long-wished for arti- 
cles for her mother and Louise, she walked up 
the avenue with Ted in her new hat, coat, and 
gloves. Ted, too, was so very presentable 


A TRIUMPH ; 


121 


that she felt proud of being in his company. 
She wished she might meet some one she 
knew, and was delighted when she saw two of 
the day-scholars in a carriage with their 
mother. They had been at the play the night 
before, and smiled and bowed in the friendli- 
est manner. 

“ They are telling that lady about you,” said 
Ted. “ I could make out what the little one 
said by her gestures. She said : 1 Look, 
Mother, there ’s Margy Brooks, the girl who 
wrote the play last night. What a remark- 
ably distinguished-looking young fellow she is 
walking with ! Did you ever see trousers more 
beautifully creased ! ’ ” 

“You ought not to make such remarks as 
that, Ted.” 

“ Why not, I ’d like to know ! I think you 
are just paying me back for the lectures I 
have given you, now that you are a person of 
importance. Why not, Margy ? Let ’s hear 
what you have to say.” 

“You ought not to, because you really are 
distinguished-looking, and it looks as if you 
meant to call attention to it.” 

“ Nonsense ! I ’ll forgive you, though, for the 
sake of the compliment. It ’s seldom enough 
I get one, goodness knows ! ” 


122 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


“ Does n’t Louise Meredith ever give you 
any?” 

“Louise! Not she. She thinks I am con- 
ceited, and spends her life sitting on me with 
the intention of making me humble.” 

“ I think she ’s right in her opinion of you ; 
but she does n’t seem to have succeeded in 
making you humble.” 

They were standing on the steps waiting 
for the bell to be answered, when Ted said : 

“You know Louise is coming here to board 
Tuesday, don’t you?” 

“ No ! ” exclaimed Margy. “ How is that ? ” 

“ Uncle John and Aunt Madeline are going 
to California for three months, and Louise is 
to stay here while they are gone.” 

“ What are you going to do ? Why did n’t 
you tell me ? ” 

“ I did n’t happen to think of it. Besides, 
I should have supposed you knew. Uncle 
John did not want anything said about it until 
he was sure he could get off.” 

“ But what are you going to do ?” Margy 
repeated as the door opened. 

“ Oh, I am going to live at the club and 
have a gay old time.” 

Margy was so full of the news she had just 
heard that she forgot to be conscious of her 


A TRIUMPH. 


123 


new clothes when she met Miss Humphreys 
in the upper hall. 

“ I hear that Louise Meredith is coming 
here to board,” she said to her, without any 
prelude. 

“ Yes : the first of the week. It was n’t de- 
cided definitely until a few days ago.” 

“ But where are they going to put her ? 
Every room is full.” 

“ She is to have the guest-chamber, as she 
is to be here such a short time, so she will be 
your next-door neighbor,” and Miss Hum- 
phreys went on to speak of Margy’s new coat 
and hat. Margy told her their history, and re- 
ceived her hearty congratulations. It seemed 
as if, all at once, good things were piling 
themselves upon her. She could not help 
seeing more or less of Louise as she would be 
so near, and the prospect was delightful. 

Mr. and Mrs. Meredith went West Tuesday 
morning, and in the afternoon Louise’s trunks 
arrived. A maid came and unpacked her 
things and put her room in order, which seemed 
very luxurious and elegant to Margy. Louise 
was to sit directly opposite her at table, between 
Edith Sandelin and Miss Healey. After din- 
ner, Edith and Louise walked up-stairs with 
Margy. 


124 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


“ I don’t see what I am to do,” Louise com- 
plained. “ I am the farthest away from the 
bell, and I sleep so soundly that I should never 
hear it if it were right in front of my door.” 

“ I will knock on the wall till you answer, if 
you like,” volunteered Margy. “ I always wake 
up before the bell rings.” 

“ O will you ? I shall be so much obliged. 
I did not want to begin to-morrow, my first 
morning, by being late to breakfast. Y ou won’t 
forget ? ” 

“ No, indeed,” answered Margy, as she went 
into her room. She was much pleased at hav- 
ing even this little thing to do for Louise. 

She was disappointed at not seeing more of 
her the week that followed. Louise was a 
hard student, and all her spare time was spent 
with Edith Sandelin. She spoke to Margy 
often at table, and was always pleasant and 
friendly when they happened to meet in the 
hall. Margy felt she liked her, but that her 
thoughts and life were too full to admit new 
interests readily. Ted came to see Louise 
once, to bring a letter he had from his uncle. 
He did not ask for Margy, as he had only a 
moment to stay, but he sent her his love. 


CHAPTER VII. 


A SLEIGH-RIDE IN THE PARK. 

O NE Friday morning - , about ten days after 
her arrival, Louise appeared at break- 
fast with a lace scarf tied around her 
head, complaining of neuralgia. The next morn- 
ing, it was so much worse that she stayed in bed. 
That afternoon, Margy asked permission to go 
out for half an hour. Miss Healey never made 
any objections to the older girls going out 
alone for a little while. She objected on prin- 
ciple to the artificiality of life in most girls’ 
schools. Her girls were chaperoned just a 
little more than they would be in similar cir- 
cumstances in a well-regulated home. She was 

o 

a clever student of character, and as she always 
had more applicants for places than there were 
vacancies, she never hesitated to send a girl 
home who could not be trusted, or whose influ- 
ence she considered bad. Consequently, when 
the girls got out, there was not the exhilaration 
of escaping bonds and prison bars that often 


125 


126 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


makes boarding-school girls so conspicuous in 
public. Going out was a matter of course to 
them as it was at home. This method was set 
out at full length in the circulars of the school, 
and parents were given to understand before- 
hand that their daughters would not be treated 
like idiots, prisoners, or children of ten. If 
they considered there was a risk, the decision 
lay with them whether to take it or not. 

Margy had never been out in New York 
alone before, and she enjoyed the sensation. 
The afternoon was sharp and bracing. She 
walked fast and soon sent the blood dancing 
through her veins and up into her cheeks. The 
sleighing was good, and the streets were filled 
with sleighs of every description, which made 
her long for a ride. She had only four blocks 
to walk to her destination, a florist’s. The 
shop was filled with the loveliest roses and 
violets, but the prices were in proportion to 
their beauty. Margy looked around for some- 
thing more suited to her purse, and chose half 
a dozen pink carnations. The man who waited 
on her was very polite, and did up her modest 
purchase with as much care as if she had bought 
half his stock. Just as she was going up the 
steps of the school, she saw Ted driving up the 
avenue in a pretty little cutter, with a lively- 


A SLEIGH-RIDE IN THE PARK . 


127 


looking horse. She waited to see if he were 
coming there. In a minute, he drew up in 
front of the house. 

“ Hello, Margy ! ” he called out when he saw 
her. “ This is luck ! Do you know where 
Louise is ? I don’t dare leave this beast, he ’s 
so confoundedly fresh. Whoa there, Christo- 
pher Columbus ! ” 

“ Is that his name ? ” asked Margy, who had 
gone down the steps again and was standing 
by the cutter. 

‘'It does as well as any. He is a cantanker- 
ous brute. I know him well. He ’s a winner, 
though.” 

“ Louise is in bed with neuralgia,” said 
Margy. 

“Why, that’s too bad!” exclaimed Ted. 
“ She has not had an, attack for ages. Is her 
head very bad ? ” 

“ I have n’t seen her, but Edith Sandelin 
said it was.' She can’t stand the light, or 
being read to, or anything.” 

“That’s too bad,” Ted repeated. “I was 
just coming to take her sleighing. Jump in, 
Margy, and I ’ll take you instead.” 

“ I shall have to speak to Miss Healey first. 
Then I ’ll tell Louise you are here, and see if 
she has any message.” 


128 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL . 


“All right. Tell her I’ll come to see her 
to-morrow when I have n’t an elephant on my 
hands. Besides, I know she does n’t like to 
talk when she has it bad. Give her my love 
and say I ’m awfully sorry.” 

Miss Healey was engaged, but gave the 
necessary permission through the maid. Then 
Margy went up to her room, undid her flowers, 
and put them in a little old silver vase of her 
mother’s. Next she knocked softly at Louise’s 
door. Louise was lying in bed, with her head 
on a hot-water bag and muffled in a shawl. 

“ Who is it ? ” she asked. “ It ’s so dark I 
can’t see.” 

“It is Margy Brooks. I have brought you 
these, and Ted is downstairs and wants to 
know how you are.” 

“ Pinks! My favorite flower ! How sweet 
they are ! It was very kind of you, Margy. 
Put them here on the table where I can smell 
them.” 

“Ted came to take you sleighing, and he 
sent you his love, and says he is coming to see 
you to-morrow. He can’t leave his horse.” 

“ Sleighing ! Oh, dear! If there’s any- 
thing I especially love, it ’s sleighing ! And I 
thought there was n’t going to be any more 
this year. I have been lying here listening 


A SLEIGH-RIDE IN THE PARK. 


129 


to the bells all the afternoon. Is he going to 
take you ?” 

“Yes, since you could n’t go.” 

“ Well, I ’m glad of that. Come in and tell 
me about it when you get home, won’t you ? ” 

“If you ’d like to have me. How is your 
head ? ” 

“ It ’s on the up grade. The pain is nearly 
gone, — just a dull throbbing ; only it ’s horri- 
bly sore, and it hurts to touch it. Don’t let 
me keep you.” 

“You’re not keeping me. Have you any 
message for Ted ?” 

“Nothing except my love, and tell him to 
be sure and come to-morrow. I ’m a thou- 
sand times obliged to you for the flowers.” 

Ted was driving slowly down the street, but 
he turned and came back when he saw Margy. 

“ How is she?” he asked, as he helped her 
in and tucked the rug around her. 

“Much better. The pain is nearly all gone.” 

“That’s good. How do you and Louise 
get along together, Margy ?” 

“We don’t see very much of each other; 
but I like her tremendously, and admire her 
more than any girl I ever knew ; and she — 
she does n’t dislike me, but she does n’t think 
of me unless she sees me.” 


130 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


“ Louise is impulsive in most things, but 
she does n’t take sudden fancies to people. I 
am sure you and she will be great friends in 
time. How do you like school as a whole, 
Margy ? ” 

“School ? I love it. I did n’t at first, but 
lately, ever since the play, the girls have been 
so nice to me, so friendly and so cordial. 
There is nothing like a little success for bring- 
ing people around.” Margy made this last 
remark a little bitterly. 

“ My dear child,” began Ted in what Louise 
called his “Dutch uncle” tone — “My dear 
child, I can’t let you be cynical so early in life. 
Even if success does bring people around in 
many cases, it was n’t that in yours. The play 
showed the girls that you had in you things 
which they had never suspected. But the 
greatest change was in you. It gave you self- 
confidence. I am sure you don’t think a small 
triumph I did not see would affect me ; and 
yet I never liked you half so well before as 
since. You are losing your fear of letting 
yourself go, and being natural. Then there is 
another thing. Ever since you have been at 
school, you have been gradually getting over 
a certain little unnatural way of speaking, so 
that now it is hardly noticeable at all. You 


A SLEIGH-RIDE IN THE PARK . 


131 

had better believe such considerations as these 
have influenced the girls.” 

“ The nicer girls, perhaps. There are a 
great many who never think for themselves, 
but only as certain other girls do. It has 
made a great difference with these that Edith 
Sandelin has taken me up in a way.” 

“ You like Edith Sandelin ? ” 

“Yes, very much ; but there is n’t as much 
to her as to Louise Meredith. Louise is much 
the stronger of the two.” 

“ She is n’t nearly so pretty as Edith, 
though.” 

“ No : but she has such a strong, interest- 
ing, intellectual face.” 

“ Is Louise popular at school ? ” 

“ Not exactly what you would call popular. 
The girls who like her like her lots ; but some 
are afraid of her. She is so honest and 
straightforward, and so outspoken. Then, if 
she dislikes a girl, she does n’t hesitate to 
show it.” 

“By being overwhelmingly polite, I ’ll bet.” 

“ Exactly,” answered Margy. 

They were skimming over the snow-covered 
road in the park, and Margy became so in- 
terested in the world around her that she 
forgot to talk, except to utter an occasional 


132 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL 


exclamation of delight. Her cheeks were 
flushed and her eyes bright with happiness. 
She looked as pretty as a picture in her new 
hat and coat. Ted glanced at her occasionally, 
and noticed with pleasure that she seemed 
entirely unconscious of her own good looks, 
although many admiring glances were directed 
at her. Presently she turned around, looked 
at Ted, and laughed for sheer enjoyment. 

“ Is n’t it glorious ! ” she exclaimed. “ I 
should like to jump up and down and yell at 
the top of my lungs.” Ted laughed at her. 

“ I advise you to don’t. Miss Taylor might 
hear of it.” 

“ I suppose it is wrong to be glad Louise is 
ill,” Margy went on, “ but I am, real, down- 
right glad. I would n’t have missed this for 
worlds. Just see all those nice-looking people. 
How I should like to know them ! O why 
was n’t I born in the Four Hundred ! ” 

“You are a born aristocrat, Margy Brooks. 
You ought to have been my rich cousin, and 
Louise the poor one. She would have made 
a much better poor girl than you, and she 
really cares so little for luxury and wealth.” 

“ That is because she has always had them.” 

“ No, it is n’t. It ’s something in her char- 
acter. Now I have always had them, and I 


A SLEIGH-RIDE IN THE PARK . 


1 33 


care ten times as much about them as she 
does, and always shall. It would be a real 
hardship to me to be poor, and Louise would n’t 
mind it at all. Uncle John is just the same 
way. He likes simple things, and Aunt 
Madeline and I like elaborate ones. It bores 
Uncle John to death to have many courses at 
dinner. He would like to have roast beef, 
vegetables, and Indian pudding every day of 
the year.” 

“ Oh ! ” exclaimed Margy. “ I love lots of 
courses, and things that you don’t know what 
you are eating, and lots of servants, and purple 
and fine linen ! If I only could have half a 
dozen new gowns all at once ! I suppose I shall 
never attain to that happiness, however.” 

“You worldling! I like you for it though, 
Margy, for I am a worldling myself. If Louise 
were n’t so altogether human, it would annoy 
me that she is so little of one. I confess I 
would rather she went in for society than to 
college. It seems more suitable, someway.” 

“ Oh no, Ted,” Margy protested. “ Louise, 
is too fine a girl not to make finer, and, as Miss 
Humphreys is always telling me, there is 
nothing like a college education for developing 
a girl. She thinks it makes girls large-minded, 
and gives them depth. We have had lots of 


134 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


talks on the subject. I wish you knew her, — 
Miss Humphreys, I mean. I can never be 
grateful enough to her for all she has done for 
me.” 

“ Somebody has certainly done a lot. You 
seem such a different girl from what you were 
six months ago, Margy.” 

“ That is because I am in congenial sur- 
roundings. I am afraid I shall be just as dis- 
agreeable and discontented and contrary when 
I go home again. Everybody says it is a 
girl’s own fault when she can’t get along with 
her family, so I suppose it is mine. Someway, 
— I suppose I ought not to say it, — Mother and 
Louise are such stick-in-the-muds. Mother 
likes the things that were in fashion twenty 
years ago, and reads the same authors, and 
quotes Moore and Byron, and can’t under- 
stand that times have changed and we in 
them.” 

“ It ’s hard lines,” Ted said soothingly, and 
then Margy began to exclaim with delight 
again. Ted resolved to take her out again, 
but making the resolution was the nearest he 
came to it ; for he was a young man of many 
engagements and many interests. 

Just before they reached home, Ted pro- 
posed stopping at a florist’s and buying some 


A SLEIGH-RIDE IN THE PARK. 


135 

flowers for Louise. He was looking away as 
he said it, but turned in time to see an expres- 
sion he did not understand on Margy’s face. 

“ What is it ? ” he asked. “ Why should n’t 
I ? ” 

“ On the contrary, I think it would be very 
nice,” Margy said as warmly as she could. 

“ No, you don’t,” said Ted. “ Tell me 
what ’s the matter.” She would not explain at 
first, but when he persisted, she broke out : 

“ It’s nothing but my horrid vanity. I took 
her a few pinks, and I was thinking how 
skimpy they would look beside the quantity 
you would be sure to get her. That ’s all, if 
you must know it.” Ted laughed. 

“ It ’s very natural,” he said. “ I won’t get 
her any to-day, but will wait a few days ” ; and 
no argument of Margy’s could make him 
change his mind. She felt very conscience- 
stricken about it, although she could not help 
being glad her little gift would not be over- 
shadowed. It was almost dark when Ted 
dropped her at the school. 

“ Tell Louise I am going to dine at the 
Hope-Woods’ ; it will interest her,” he said, as 
he lifted his hat. Christopher Columbus 
bounded off into the darkness. 

Margy would not go to Louise’s room then. 


136 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


as she would have so short a time to stay. The 
thought of the visit had lain in a corner of her 
mind all the drive, and added greatly to its en- 
joyment. She got dressed for dinner and went 
to see Miss Humphreys for a few minutes in- 
stead. She and Miss Humphreys had become 
better friends than ever since Christmas, and 
much of the improvement in Margy might be 
traced directly to her influence. It was nearly 
nine o’clock before she went to Louise’s room. 
Edith Sandelin was there, and Sally Garnis. 

“ I have been expecting you all the evening,” 
Louise said, in her gracious little way. 

“ I could n’t come before, as I was doing 
some copying for Miss Humphreys.” 

“ What kind of a time did you have ? ” 
Louise asked. 

“ Great ! ” and Margy’s eyes brightened at 
the recollection. “ I never enjoyed anything 
more in my life. I told Ted I was glad you 
were ill, and I meant it.” All the girls laughed 
at this. 

“You are not as generous as I,” said Louise. 
“ I told Edith I was glad you went instead of 
me. You can ask her if I did n’t.” 

“ I ’m not ashamed a bit,” Margy protested. 
“ By the way, Ted told me to tell you he was 
going to dine at the Hope-Woods’. He 


A SLEIGH-RIDE IN THE PARK . 137 

thought it would interest you.” Margy never 
called Louise or Edith anything. She could n’t 
call them “ Miss Meredith ” and ‘‘Miss San- 
delin ” when they called her “ Margy,” and she 
did n’t dare say “Louise” and “Edith.” It 
was easy enough to call Sally Garnis “ Sally.” 
Every one did. 

“ At the Hope-Woods’, is he ?” and Louise 
laughed. “ I am always teasing him about 
Miss Hope-Woods, pretending he is gone on 
her,” she explained. “He isn’t a bit, really, 
though — at least, I don’t think so. She is 
awfully pretty, and makes a fuss over Ted.” 

Margy enjoyed the hour she spent in Louise’s 
room quite as much as she had expected to. It 
was so pleasant and cosy, and all the girls 
treated her like one of themselves. Altogether, 
it was a happy finish to a happy day. 

She went into Louise’s room the next morn- 
ing to see how she was. 

“ Are you dead set on going to church ? ” 
Louise asked, as Margy was going to get 
ready. 

“ No, not at all.” 

“ Then, don’t you want to ask Miss Healey 
to let you stay and read to me ? I’m so tired 
of my own society, and I don’t like to ask 
Edith, for I know she wants to wear her new 


138 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


fur cape.” Margy was delighted, and went off 
to get the necessary permission. In a few 
minutes she came back again. 

“ Have you read Six to Sixteen ? ” she asked. 
“ Miss Humphreys lent it to me last night. 
She says it is fine.” 

“No, I never have. Mrs. Ewing, is n’t it ? 
I always like her things.” 

“ Shall I begin it ? ” Margy asked. 

“ I wish you would. Does it tire you to read 
aloud ? ” 

“No, I like to. I often read to mother and 
Louise at home, only mother makes me angry 
by never liking the books I do.” 

“Is n’t it irritating?” said Louise. “One 
always feels as if they did it on purpose to be 
disagreeable. I got so angry at Ted when he 
called Peter Ibbetson slow. He never does 
like my favorite books. I suppose it ’s because 
they ’re sentimental.” 

“ And Ted is n’t sentimental ? ” 

“ I should say not ! You did n’t think he was, 
did you ? ” 

“ No, not at all ; only I thought appearances 
might be deceitful.” 

“ They are n’t this time. I tell him that ’s 
what keeps him so young and boyish. Would 
you mind giving me that pillow on the floor, 


A SLEIGH-RIDE IN THE PARK. 139 

Margy. I want to sit up a little. Oh, dear, 
what a fright I must look like ! My head is so 
sore and lame I can’t bear to comb my hair, 
and it worries me, it is so uncomfortable.” 

“ Suppose I try to comb it for you. I ’ll go 
very easy, and if it hurts, I can stop.” 

“ Oh, will you ? I should be so much 
obliged.” Margy got the comb and brush, and 
combed Louise’s thick fine dark hair, and 
braided it in two braids. 

“ How good that feels!” Louise exclaimed 
when she had finished. “ And you did n’t 
hurt me a bit ! You have such a delicate 
touch.” 

“You look about thirteen with it that way,” 
said Margy. “ Shall I read now ? ’ 

Margy read for a long time, both girls 
getting much interested in the story, until 
Miss Healey came in from church to see how 
Louise was, and to say that Ted was in the 
drawing-room and wanted to see her. 

^Please let him come up, Miss Healey. It ’s 
so long since I have seen him. Margy has 
combed my hair for me and made me pre- 
sentable. Just give me that little sack hang- 
ing on my closet door, will you, Margy?” 

“ Margy can go down and tell him to come 
up,” said Miss Healey. 


140 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


“ Come back with him, Margy,” said Louise, 
“ He will want to see you as well as me.’' 

Miss Healey was just going away when Ted 
came back with Margy. 

“ Well, old girl,” he said to Louise when he 
had stooped and kissed her. “ I hear you ’ve 
been misbehaving yourself.” 

“ It’s not very often I do anything of the 
sort,” Louise answered. 

“No : *that ’s one thing I like about you, 
Louise. You ’re not always having aches and 
pains, — thanks to me.” 

“ Thanks to you ! ” exclaimed Louise. 

“Yes : thanks to the system of physical cul- 
ture I introduced into the Meredith house. 
Who had the gym. fitted up, I ’d like to know ? 
Who taught you how to swing Indian clubs 
and play tennis ? Who taught you how to 
swim and to ride ? I am sorry, Louise, that 
your ingratitude makes me appear vain- 
glorious.” 

“ How do you account for the fact that I 
was never ill when I was a baby ? You ’ll be 
saying you made me next, out of sugar paste 
and almonds, like Perlino, and gave me my 
fine constitution ! ” 

“ No, Louise : I shall never say that. I do 
not claim the powers of deity.” 


A SLEIGH-RIDE IN THE PARK. 


141 

“ I am glad you draw the line somewhere.” 

"Besides,” Ted went on as if he had not 
heard the last remark, " if I had created you, 
I should have made a better job of it. Your 
nose, for instance, is foreshortened a trifle 
more than it should be, and your mouth is a 
little out of proportion. Then, I would have 
given you a better disposition, one less can. 
tankerous, and more subservient to those who 
are older and wiser than you.” 

" Well, if I ’d made you,” Louise was be- 
ginning. 

"No doubt you would have forgotten the 
baking powder, and I should have been a dis- 
mal failure,” Ted interrupted significantly. 

"To remember one mishap among so many 
successes ! ” exclaimed Louise. " I am willing 
to admit, however, that if I had had my hands 
in you, you would n’t have been so light as 
you are now.” 

Margy had been looking on, an interested 
spectator. This was the first time she had 
ever seen Ted and Louise together, and she 
had always had the greatest curiosity as to 
their relations. She had discovered long ago 
that they were very fond of each other, 
although they were not inclined, either of 
them, to make a display of their affection. 


142 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


Louise’s last remark struck her as so funny 
that she laughed heartily over it. Ted resisted 
a minute, but then he had to laugh too. 

“You certainly got a rise out of me then if 
you would n’t have at my creation,” he said 
presently. This set them all off again, and 
they laughed until Ted suddenly remembered 
he had an engagement for luncheon, and got 
up to go. 

“Take care of yourself, Louisa Jane,” he 
said. “ I ’ll try to drop in the middle of the 
week to see how you are. At all events, 
remember that I am always interested in your 
welfare.” 

“ If your interest is to be judged by the 
number of your visits,” began Louise. 

“Oh, that’s just my consideration, ”Ted inter- 
rupted. “ Knowing the poor opinion you have 
of me, I think it true kindness not to thrust 
myself upon you too often. But seriously, 
Louise, that father of yours gives me enough 
to do for him to keep a dozen men busy. He 
is such a steam-engine himself that he thinks 
I run by electricity or water power, and don’t 
need time for rest and recreation. Anyway, 
he ought to remember I have to be repaired 
and oiled occasionally. Besides, I can’t drop 
society altogether : it would be poor policy for 


A SLEIGH-RIDE IN THE PARK . 


43 


a man just starting out in life. Just tell him 
he ’s another with my compliments, Louise.” 

“ I suppose you might call it getting oiled 
when you go around with Miss Hope-Woods.” 

“Good-by, Margy,” said Ted, hastily. “I 
hope you will choose your companions at 
school with some discrimination. Uncharita- 
bleness and ill-nature are said to be con- 
tagious. No : don’t come down with me. I 
know the way, and I ’m not afraid of anything.” 
He closed the door after him, but opened it 
again immediately and came in. 

“ Oh, dear,” he complained in a frightened 
tone. “ There are three girls coming down 
the hall abreast, and I don’t see how I am to 
get by them. Besides, the stairs are awfully 
dark, and they might sand-bag me or — 
anything.” 

“ Go with him, Margy, and protect him,” 
laughed Louise. “You ’d better take him by 
the hand.” 

“Yes, Margy, you’ll have to,” and taking 
Margy’s hand, Ted held it obviously in his all 
the way down-stairs. He would n’t drop it 
even when Margy thought she saw Miss 
Taylor coming. Fortunately, she was mis- 
taken. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


MARGY GETS INTO TROUBLE. 

M ARGY saw more of Louise after this, 
and they became very good friends, 
although she never felt on a footing 
of absolute equality with her. She never felt 
entirely at her ease either, being constantly 
afraid of making a break that would lower her 
in Louise’s estimation. That did not hinder 
their being together a great deal. They often 
studied together, and then Margy sometimes 
read to Louise and Edith for half an hour or so 
after dinner. They read Six to Sixteen and 
several other stories through. All the time, 
nevertheless, Margy never lost the conscious- 
ness that Louise would have contented herself 
with being simply polite if it had n’t been for 
Ted. Of that young man they saw very little. 
Margy hardly saw him from the Sunday Louise 
had neuralgia until after the Easter holidays. 
Louise and he had spent Easter together at a 


144 


MARGY GETS INTO TROUBLE. 


J45 


friend’s in the country. Louise came back in 
the best of spirits, exulting in a joke she was 
going to play on Ted ; but what it was she 
would not say. 

Just before dinner on the same day, Ted 
sent word to Margy that he wanted to see 
her. 

“ Have you told Miss Meredith ? ” she asked 
the maid. 

“ If you please, Miss, Mr. Meredith said 
Miss Meredith was not to know he was here.” 
Margy was puzzled, but went down to the 
drawing-room. Ted was very cordial, and 
asked all sorts of questions about her vacation, 
including in his inquiries every one from her 
mother to old Billy. It was not until he had 
exhausted the subject that he approached the 
object of his visit. 

“ I say, Margy,” he began, with a suspicion 
of embarrassment, “ I want you to do some- 
thing for me.” He hesitated a little, and then 
went on : “ Louise has a photograph of mine, 
and I want you to get it back for me. She is 
up to some mischief with it. It ’s of Miss 
Hope-Woods,” he added, a little consciously, 
“ and has an inscription on it that I should n’t 
care to have made public.” Margy had never 
seen Ted even a trifle embarrassed before, and 


146 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


it amused her, but she kept a perfectly sober 
face as she answered : 

“ But how can I get it ? ” 

“ Why, just look around her room some 
time when she is n’t there.” 

“ O Ted, I could n’t. I ’d do anything for 
you, but I could n’t open drawers or anything 
of that sort.” 

“ I don’t want you to do that. I ’ll bet it ’s 
in the pocket of the coat she had on to-day. 
Louise never takes the things out of her 
pockets. She had it there when I left her, 
I ’in sure, for she put her hand in her pocket 
and grinned maliciously as she disappeared in 
the door. You would n’t mind looking in one 
special place, would you, Margy ? ” Ted said 
this so persuasively that Margy brought out a 
reluctant “ no.” 

“ Yes, I would, too,” she added, more hon- 
estly. Ted insisted, however, and finally 
Margy let herself be persuaded. She was 
to look in that one pocket and nowhere else. 
It was with the utmost reluctance that'she un- 
dertook this commission, but Ted was so very 
persuasive and urgent. More powerful than his 
arguments was the thought that this was the 
first time she ever had a chance to do him a 
favor. She happened to know that Louise 


MARGY GETS INTO TROUBLE. 


i47 


was to have an essay interview with Miss 
Humphreys immediately after dinner, and re- 
solved to look for the photograph then. 

“ You ’re a dear girl, Margy. I knew you 
would n’t refuse me,” Ted said gratefully. 
“ There is one thing I want you to promise me 
solemnly, though, — n'ot to give me away to 
Louise. I can’t have you taking her side 
against me. Besides, it would be great fun 
not to let her know how I got it.” 

“ All right,” said Margy. “ I ’ll promise as 
solemnly as you like.” 

Louise came to the dinner table in the best 
of good spirits. 

“ You seem to have enjoyed your vacation, 
Louise,” said Sally Garnis. 

“ I did n’t so very much, especially the last 
part of it. To tell the truth, I ’m glad to get 
back.” 

“ What was the matter ? ” asked Sally. 

“ Oh, Mrs. King had a house party over 
Easter, and I felt rather out of it, — that was 
all. I was the only extremely young person 
there, and the men treated me like a little girl. 
It was the first time I ever was among grown- 
ups outside of my own house, and at Bar Har- 
bor, of course, and it gave me a lesson on the 
unimportance of the school-girl that I did n’t 
like,” 


148 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


“ Why did n’t you take a brace and show 
them you were not so young and so fresh as 
you looked ? ” asked Edith Sandelin. 

“ Oh, I could n’t. It paralyzes me to be 
looked down on. Then, to tell the truth, I 
am young and fresh. I have always consid- 
ered myself rather clever, — and been snubbed 
and scolded for my conceit, by the way. I 
have also always considered Eleanor Hastings 
stupid ; but I have got to the point of deciding 
that it takes something else than brains to 
shine in society. What it is I have yet to dis- 
cover. She had two or three men around her 
all the time, laughing at every word she said, 
and I was n’t in it at all. The worst of it is 
that she is only a year and a half older than I. 
Oh, dear ! I don’t like feeling humble ! ” 

“It must have been a new experience for 
you to be neglected,” said Edith. 

“ Oh, I was n’t neglected exactly. Mrs. King 
and Ted would n’t have let that happen in any 
case ; but it was just as I said, I felt young 
and inexperienced and out of it generally. 
It ’s humiliating to confess it, but I have n’t 
had any experience of any kind. I never had 
a flirtation, or was in love in my life, — since 
the days when I adored our letter-carrier. 
Why, I never even played ‘Copenhagen,’ or 
kissed a boy who was n’t related ! ” The girls 


MARGY GETS INTO TROUBLE. 


149 


all laughed at this, and Louise went on : 
“ There were some nice young men there, and 
I felt I should like to be confidential and inter- 
esting — when I drove home w r ith one of them 
on the back seat of the coach, for instance ; 
but I did n’t have any experience or any deep 
feelings of any kind to confide. In fact, I had 
hard work finding anything to talk about at 
all.” 

“ Why, Louise ! ” exclaimed all the girls in a 
chorus. 

“ Well, you see, it was this way. I could n’t 
tell him about school or you girls, for I 
know the contempt young men feel for girls’ 
schools and school-girls generally ; so what 
was I to talk about?” 

“What makes you so jolly, then? Relief 
from oppression ?” asked Sally. 

“ Oh, I have heard several such good pieces 
of news since I came back. I had letters from 
Mother and Father, and they told me some 
delightful things ; and then, I have discovered 
something perfectly heavenly about Margy.” 

“About me?” exclaimed Margy, excitedly. 

“Yes, about you. I can’t tell you what it 
is. The person who told me said I could only 
say I knew something nice. I would n’t prom- 
ise to keep it a secret unless they would let 


150 AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 

me do that. They said I might tell Edith and 
no one else.” 

“ How nice,” said Edith. “Come and tell 
me right away.” 

“ Can’t you tell me ? ” asked Sally. 

“ No, nobody but Edith, and I am not going 
to tell her until after I have had my essay crit- 
icised. I have n’t time to stop now. Come 
up to my room in half an hour or so, Edith, 
and I ’ll tell you all about it.” 

“ I think you are too tantalizing for words,” 
said Margy. “ When am I to know this won- 
derful thing ? ” 

“ Not for a month at the very least — a whole 
month.” 

“ Oh, I can’t wait. I ’ll find it out some way 
if I have to listen at the keyhole.” 

“Well, if you are willing to do that, you can 
know,” said Louise, laughing. “ I am not 
going to say another word, so it is no use ask- 
ing any more questions, or looking at me in 
that wistful way.” 

“Just let me ask one,” pleaded Margy. 

“ Not a one. I did n’t tell you what made 
me feel the worst of all,” Louise went on, after 
all the girls had left the table except Edith 
and Margy. “That horrid Hope-Woods girl 
was there, and she and Ted had the most vio- 


MARGY GETS INTO TROUBLE . 15 1 


lent flirtation. How little girls know their 
brothers ! It was a revelation to me that he 
could carry on so. He acted like sin. Then, 
I may as well confess it, it made me horribly 
jealous, for he had n’t time to take any notice 
of me, and, you know, I have hardly seen him 
all winter.” 

“ Do you think he really — likes her ? ” 
Margy asked. 

“ I don’t know what to think. I know she 
likes him, and that flatters him, as she is tre- 
mendously run after. She goes everywhere 
now. Still, he can’t help seeing that she is n’t 
a thorough-bred ; and Ted has too level a head 
to let himself get really entangled with a girl 
of that stamp, — at least, I think so. The 
trouble is that he is so fond of fun that he 
would go any lengths to get it. He will go as 
far as any girl will, and farther. I understand 
now why he is so particular about what I do 
and say. He is always scolding me about 
being free and easy and talking slang.’ 

“ He is the queerest mixture,” said Margy. 
“ Why, when he was down at our house, he 
seemed as grave and serious as a man of forty, 
and gave Mother advice, and lectured me, and 
behaved himself with the utmost propriety ; 
and ever since I came to New York, I have 


152 AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 

been learning the most surprising things about 
him, and seeing him in quite a different light.” 

“ He ’s a humbug,” Louise said emphatically. 
“ All older people adore him, and say it is so 
unusual to see a young man so staid and well- 
conducted ; and all the time he is a regular 
birdie. The funny part is that he is staid and 
well-conducted too. But Miss Humphreys 
will be waiting for me. I ’ll stop and get you 
afterwards, Edith, and we ’ll do that problem 
together, and I ’ll tell you about — you know 
what. Poor Marp-y, would n’t she like to 
know ! ” 

“ Never you mind, I ’ll find out someway,” 
said Margy. 

Margy went straight up to Louise’s room. 
She did not like to light the gas for fear of 
detection, so she felt around in her closet until 
she found the coat she was looking for. She 
found the pocket, and, sure enough, there was 
the photograph. She had taken it out and 
transferred it to her own pocket, when, to her 
horror, the door opened and some one came 
in. It was not until the gas was lit that she 
saw it was Edith and Louise. The closet door 
was partly shut, but she could see them plainly 
through the crack between the hinges. She 
was struck motionless with horror, — the more 


MARGY GETS INTO TROUBLE. 153 

so that Louise went on with some communica- 
tion she had been making : 

“ And Miss Harper is to be Nelly and Dick 
Van Arsdale Will, and everybody who is any 
body is to be there. They always are at the 
Friday Night Club performances.” 

“ How perfectly lovely for Margy,” said 
Edith, enthusiastically. “ But, Louise, you 
have n’t showed me the photograph.” 
Margy’s heart literally stood still as Louise 
replied : 

“ All right It ’s in the closet, in my coat 
pocket.” She did not wait for Louise to find 
her there, but opened the door wide and 
walked out into the room. She never had a 
very clear idea afterwards of what happened. 
It was the most horrible moment of her life, 
Of course, the girls thought she had come there 
to listen to the secret ; and Louise, who had a 
quick temper and was not yet old enough to 
have learned the superior force of silence over 
invective, poured a volley of reproaches on 
her. Margy was too proud and too angry 
to explain, even, if she had not considered 
herself bound by her promise to Ted. 
She did not answer a single word ; but when 
Louise stopped for breath she said proudly. 

“ If you have quite finished, I will go to my 


154 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


room. If I thought there was the slightest 
chance of your believing me without any 
other explanation, I would tell you that I 
did n’t come here to listen.” 

“ Eavesdropping alone is bad enough with- 
out adding another sin to it,” said Louise, 
haughtily. Margy flushed angrily, but walked 
out of the room with her head erect. No 
sooner was she safe in her own room than she 
dropped in a heap on the floor and hid her 
face in the window-seat. It was some minutes 
before she began to cry, but once started she 
could not stop. Long after the rest of the 
household was asleep, she sat there on the 
floor, weeping the bitterest tears she had ever 
wept. She was young enough to have her 
sorrow seem hopeless and interminable. Her 
promise would keep her from explaining, and 
Louise would never know the truth, but would 
think her dishonorable and a liar to the end 
of the chapter. Here, anger at Louise’s accu- 
sation would get the better of regret, and she 
would vow she never wanted to be friends 
with Louise, never wanted to see her again. 
She dreaded the morning unspeakably. She 
could see in imagination the frigid politeness 
of Louise’s manners. She would not refuse 
to speak to her — she thought that childish and 


MARGY GETS INTO TROUBLE. 


*55 


undignified ; but what a difference there would 
be ! Margy wished she could give up school 
and go home, and thought over all possible 
and impossible ways of accomplishing this 
without awkward explanations. There was 
only one alleviating circumstance, that she 
was not really guilty of the intention Louise 
attributed to her. This did not console her 
very much, however ; for in her present state of 
mind examining peoples pockets seemed al- 
most equally dishonorable with eavesdropping, 
and she was sure Louise would resent it just as 
much. Finally, she got up, lame and sore from 
her cramped position, and went to bed, pre- 
pared to lie awake all night. Once there, how- 
ever, hope began to reassert itself, regret, for 
the moment, getting the better of anger. In 
some way, Louise would discover before long 
what she really went to her closet for ; and 
considering that her motive had been love and 
gratitude to Ted, would forgive her and be 
friends again. 

This side of the question had rolled com- 
pletely out of sight when she awoke in the 
morning. She awakened to a sense of misery, 
and it was fully two minutes before she could 
realize what it was. Her first impulse had 
been to knock on the wall as usual for Louise ; 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


156 

but she remembered her troubles before she 
really did it. Edith was at the breakfast 
table before her, and took no notice of her ; 
but Louise was ten minutes late. She in- 
cluded Margy in her good-morning, and then 
made her apologies to Miss Healey. She was 
quiet and dignified in her manner, and re- 
minded Margy of the Louise of her earlier im- 
pressions, when she thought her a haughty, ex- 
clusive young aristocrat. She had lost sight 
of these in discovering what a jolly, free and 
easy girl Louise really was when she laid aside 
her company manners and made a friend of 
you. When Miss Healey brought Margy into 
the conversation, Louise made no attempt to 
draw out of it. She even asked Margy for 
the toast once ; but the difference was even 
greater than Margy had imagined it would be. 
It was truly awful. She felt she could not 
stand the indefinite number of meals stretch- 
ing out before her with this at every one. A 
remark she heard Edith Sandelin whisper 
to Louise, as they went out of the dining-room, 
did not make it any better : 

“How could you, Louise? I don’t feel as 
if I ever could bring myself to speak to her 
again.” Her quick ears caught the answer, 
too, for the girls did not know she was so near. 


MARGY GETS INTO TROUBLE. 157 


“Oh, Father always says it is small-minded 
to make your resentment any more obvious 
than you can help. I speak to her for my 
own sake, not for hers.” 

Ted came that afternoon as he had said he 
would. Margy had dressed early for dinner 
on purpose to be ready for him. 

“ Well, have you got it ?” he asked the first 
thing. Margy took the photograph out of her 
pocket and gave it to him. 

“ It’s a pretty picture, don’t you think so?” 
he asked with assumed carelessness, after he 
had expressed his gratitude in the warmest 
terms. 

“ I don’t know. I have n’t looked at it.” 

“ Have n’t looked at it ! ” Ted exclaimed in 
amazement. 

“ No : I put it in this pocket in the dark 
last night, and I haven’t taken it out since.” 

“Well, you are a one-er ! Here, take a 
look at it now. Did you have any difficulty 
finding it ? ” 

“No : ” Margy answered calmly, as she took 
it from him, “ it was just where you thought 
it was.” The photograph represented a very 
pretty young woman with an abundant display 
of beautiful neck and shoulders, leaning over 
a banjo. Her knees were crossed, and showed 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


* 5 « 

her pretty feet and several inches of open- 
work stockings. She was looking down de- 
murely, but a suspicion of a dimple and certain 
lines around the mouth made one suspect she 
was not so demure as she looked. Under- 
neath was written in a bold, black writing : 
“For the great and only Bo-bo from his 
Ginny.” 

“ Naturally I did not want that lying around 
the country. It was a joke,” he explained 
lamely, “but, of course, people could n’t be ex- 
pected to know that.” 

“ It is a very pretty picture,” said Margy. 
Ted only stayed a few minutes, and then 
took his leave with renewed expressions of 
gratitude. 

Margy had now reached a new stage of feel- 
ing. She looked on herself as a martyr, and 
took a certain amount of satisfaction in the 
pose. She had read all the children’s books 
in which girls are falsely accused of all sorts of 
misdemeanors, and bear the accusation and 
disgrace with unfaltering courage for some 
one’s else sake. She now felt the same kind 
of morbid pleasure in her own wrongs that she 
had felt, in a less intense degree, in crying 
over Ellen’s woes in Home Influence . There 
was one satisfaction lacking, however. She 


MARGY GETS INTO TROUBLE. 


1 59 


could not feel herself absolutely guiltless. She 
should not have gone to Louise’s closet even 
for Ted’s sake. Perhaps it would never be 
found out that she was misjudged. She would 
pine away, like Ellen, and finally die, and only 
after her death would the facts come to light. 
Louise would be inconsolable for her harsh- 
ness, and ever afterwards her face would wear 
a saddened expression when in repose. Her 
children or grandchildren would comment on 
this, and Louise would reply : “ My dears, in- 
justice put that look there, injustice to a 
fellow-mortal. I discovered my mistake only 
after she was dead. ‘Judge not that ye be 
not judged.’” Margy was crying so hard by 
this time that she could not go on with her 
imagining. There was another worry that 
disputed a place even with this supreme one. 
She did not like Ted’s apparent devotion to 
Miss Hope-Woods. It made her jealous, as 
well as Louise. Then, the knowledge that he 
could be interested in a girl made the indiffer- 
ence of his attitude towards her all the more 
unbearable. He should, at least, have shown 
her some of the cousinly devotion that one 
reads about, and seldom or never finds. With 
all these things to think of, it was not surpris- 
ing that she could not put her mind on her 


160 AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 

studies. The only classes she did not flunk in 
the next day were the ones in which she was 
not called upon to recite. One consolation 
was that Louise did not do any better. 

That same night at dinner Miss Healey 
asked Louise if she had played her joke on 
Ted. Margy listened breathlessly for her 
answer, wondering if she had connected her 
with the disappearance of the picture. She 
evidently had not, however, for she answered : 

“ It ’s the queerest thing, Miss Healey, but 
I have lost it, — the thing I was going to play 
the joke with, I mean. It was a photograph, 
and I put it in my coat pocket when I left the 
Kings’, and when I looked for it just now, it 
was gone. Perhaps Ted stole it out of my 
pocket on the way here. I don’t see how he 
could have, though.” 

“ When did you last have it ? ” asked Miss 
Healey. 

“ I certainly thought I felt it as I came in 
the door yesterday morning, but I had a letter 
in my pocket, and it must have been that. 
Ted will never forgive me if I have dropped 
it around where some one can pick it up.” 

Miss Healey must have seen that something 
was wrong between Margy and Edith and 
Louise ; but she wisely took no notice, hoping, 


MARGY GETS INTO TROUBLE. 161 

no doubt, that it would blow over. All the 
girls knew there had been a quarrel, and Margy 
felt a sensible decline in her importance, now 
that she no longer went with Louise and 
Edith. Their avoidance of one another was 
especially noticeable in the gymnasium, where 
Louise had been giving Margy a special course 
of instruction. 

“ Ted says for me to take you in hand,” she 
had said to her when she first came to board. 
“ He wants you to be as limber as you were 
the summer he stayed with you. Do you 
want me to teach you some of the exercises 
he taught me ? They are a great deal more 
interesting than our class work.” Margy was 
more than willing, and after that, she and Louise 
spent together the twenty minutes that the 
girls had for special work. It was wonderful 
how well and strong it made her feel, to exer- 
cise until she was all in a glow, and then take 
a needle bath and a good rub. As Louise 
had said, it made her feel so jolly. As this 
had been the pleasantest time of the day, now 
it was the most wretched. Louise made the 
difference as little noticeable as possible by 
taking up some difficult work on her own 
account ; but the girls noticed it immediately. 

Things went on for some weeks with no 


162 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


change either for the better or the worse. At 
times, Margy was so angry at Louise that she 
thought she did not care whether they made 
it up or not. Again, she took a melancholy 
satisfaction in her role of martyr. At other 
times, and these were most frequent, she felt 
she could not stand it another minute ; she 
must be friends again with her at any cost. 
Still, pride, mistaken loyalty to Ted, and the 
influence and example of the story books she 
had brought herself up on kept her from offer- 
ing an explanation, even when anger was 
subordinate enough to let her wish to. 

Spring came, and with it as much out-door 
life as could be had in a city. Like all 
imaginative people, Margy was very suscep- 
tible to the charm of spring ; but this year she 
was too much disturbed in mind to take her 
usual pleasure in scents and sounds. At last, 
however, the truth came out. 


CHAPTER IX. 


LOUISE FINDS OUT THE TRUTH. 

O NE beautiful afternoon in May, Ted 
came around to the school to get 
Louise to go out with him. 

“ Shall we take Margy ? ” he asked, as Louise 
came down in her new spring clothes, looking 
very aristocratic and stylish. 

“ Oh, let ’s go by ourselves,” she answered 
quickly. 

“ What’s up between you and Margy?” he 
asked abruptly, after they had walked a block 
or two. 

“Between me and Margy? What makes 
you think anything’s the matter?” 

“ I know there is. Tell me what it is, 
Louise.” 

“ Oh, don’t ask me. I don’t want to speak of 
it. I never was so disappointed in a girl in 
my life.” 

“ Fire ahead.” 

“ No : I shall not tell you, so don’t ask me. 

163 


1 64 AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 

It would prejudice you against her, and I don’t 
want to do that, as you are the best friend she 
has, — almost the only one, poor girl ! I was 
right at first ; a girl who has as bad taste in 
clothes as she had, could n’t be genuine. I 
thought afterwards, when she let that big bang 
grow back and stopped using perfume and 
being affected, that it was only living in a 
country town, but I see now it was innate. 
There, I did n’t mean to say that much. It ’s 
no use your asking me to tell you any more, 
Ted.” They walked along in silence for some 
minutes, and then Ted broke out with : 

“ I say, Louise, was it anything about that 
picture ? ” 

“ What picture ? ” 

“ Virginia Hope-Woods’.” 

“What had Margy to do with that ? No, 
nothing at all. I say, Ted, did you steal that 
out of my pocket on the train ?” 

“ No : I am not a juggler.” 

“ Then I lost it. I have been afraid I had.” 

“ What do you think of this ?” asked Ted, 
and taking a pocket-book out of his breast 
pocket, he opened it, took out a photograph, 
and handed it to her. 

“ Oh, she gave you another, then ? And 
with the same inscription ? I wonder even 


LOUISE FINDS OUT THE TRUTH. 165 

she was willing to duplicate anything so 
silly.” 

“ Do you see this?” and Ted called her at- 
tention to a corner that was broken off. 

“Why, that ’s the place I tore ! Where did 
you get it ? ” 

“That’s my secret,” he answered shortly. 
They walked along for another block, Louise 
apparently lost in thought. Presently, a light 
broke over her face, she looked up, and asked 
quickly : 

“ Did Margy get it out of my pocket for 
you ? You must tell me. It’s a matter of the 
greatest importance.” 

“ Well, yes, she did. I made her do it for 
me. She would n’t consent to look anywhere 
but in that one pocket, though.” 

“ When was it ? ” Louise asked eagerly. 

“It was Easter Monday, the day you went 
back to school. I went to see her that after- 
noon, and made her promise to do it for me. I 
happen to remember her saying that she found 
it in the dark that same evening.” 

“ I never was so glad of anything in my 
life ! ” Louise exclaimed. “ I should like to 
sit down and cry.” 

“What in Cain is the matter?” Ted de- 
manded. 


1 66 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL . 


“ I don’t suppose she ’ll ever forgive me for 
what I said to her. I don’t see how I could 
have helped thinking it, though.” 

“Do talk United States,” entreated Ted. 
“Well, I don’t see that any one is to blame,” 
he remarked, when she had told him the whole 
story, “unless you were, in the first place, in 
taking what did not belong to you. Let this 
be a lesson to you, my young friend.” 

“We don’t have lessons on Saturday, thank 
you. Now, Ted, I want to go straight back 
and make it up with Margy.” 

Poor Margy was having a very dismal Sat- 
urday afternoon. Everybody was out, and 
she did n’t know what to do with herself. She 
did n’t have anything nice to read, and she was 
so tired of studying that she could not bear the 
idea of looking at a lesson. She sat at her 
window for a long time, watching the people 
go by. The only interesting person she saw 
was Tom Hollister. He came along the street 
at a rapid pace, dashed up the steps and into 
the house opposite, slamming the door after 
him. In an incredibly short space of time, he 
came out again in an entirely different suit of 
clothes, a light overcoat on his arm, and a 
dress-suit case in his hand. He stopped a 
moment on the doorstep to put a bunch of 


LOUISE FINDS OUT THE TRUTH. 167 

violets in his button-hole, and then was off as 
rapidly as he came. He looked so handsome 
and so jolly, and was so evidently on the way 
to some good time, that Margy felt more out 
of it than ever. Both the Hollister boys were 
very interesting : they seemed like fairy 
princes to this forlorn little Cinderella. She 
often planned out imaginary futures in which 
she was to know them and be admired by 
them. They were acquaintances of Ted’s, — 
he had been in college with them ; but it was 
Edith Sandelin who could tell her the most 
about them. She had never met them, but 
her information was as precise as if they had 
been her brothers. She knew their classes at 
college, what business they were in, which was 
Arthur and which Tom, how old they were, 
and everything else down to their favorite 
actresses. 

“ Why, it ’s Arthur who likes violets best,” 
Margy exclaimed as Tom adjusted his bouton- 
niere . Her remonstrance had no effect, how- 
ever. The violets were neatly pinned in 
position. “ And to think they don’t even know 
there is such a person as I, and would n’t care 
if they did,” she thought unhappily as Tom 
disappeared around the corner. She was almost 
at the point of tears, when she heard some one 


1 68 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


come rapidly down the hall and knock at her 
door. 

“ Come in,” she said wearily, turning her 
head from the window. Louise rushed in, her 
arms full of long sprays of lilac, purple and 
white, which she flung down in Margy’s lap 
with a : 

“ Ted sent you these ; and, O Margy, I know 
all about it, and I ’m so sorry. Can you ever 
forgive me for what I said ? I don’t see how 
I could have helped thinking it, though ” ; and 
sitting down by Margy, Louise began to cry. 
Margy began to cry too. 

“ I know I ought not to have gone to your 
closet, but I did want to do something for 
Ted,” she sobbed out. 

“Oh, that was n’t anything; that was all 
right,” Louise sobbed out in return. “ Why, 
that was the way I got it, out of Ted’s pocket. 
Are you quite sure you forgive me, Margy ? ” 

“ I don’t see how you could have helped 
thinking what you did,” said Margy. “ I have 
never blamed you for that . You don’t know 
me very well, and how could you tell that I 
would n’t do that sort of thing ?” 

“ I ought to have had a little faith. That is 
one of my faults. I am always dead sure I am 
right, that everything is as I think it is. Then, 


LOUISE FINDS OUT THE TRUTH. 169 


I ought to have known you would n’t wait in 
the closet all the time I was having that inter- 
view. Somebody came to see Miss Hum- 
phreys, and that was how I got off.” 

“ Anybody would have thought it. I don’t 
blame you,” Margy repeated, for all her anger 
had evaporated at Louise’s first word. 

“ But I shall always blame myself. What 
can I do for you to make up ? ” Margy had 
a sudden impulse, and, for once, she acted 
on it. 

“ Please kiss me,” she said. Louise put her 
arms around her and kissed her several times. 

“ I have n’t been nice to you at all, Margy,” 
she broke out impulsively, “ but I mean to be. 
No, don’t interrupt me. I ’ve been horrid and 
stuck-up, and kept you off at arm’s length be- 
cause you used to use powder and perfume and 
do your hair like a mop, and were a little 
affected. I could have liked you, too, lots, if I 
had only let myself. Why, I don’t know a girl 
that is as good company as you — not even 
Edith, although I am so fond of her. Then, 
to be quite honest, I think I did n’t like it be- 
cause you were so much cleverer than I, and 
I tried to pretend I was your social superior to 
make up for it ! ” Margy now succeeded in 
getting in a word. 


170 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


“ But, Louise,” she protested, “ I am not 
cleverer than you.” 

“ Yes, you are. I can learn a lesson as ac- 
curately as you, and do a mathematical prob- 
lem quicker ; but when it comes to originality, 
I ’m not in it. I may do better than you in 
algebra, but in English and essays and history 
and good translations, oh, I can’t help seeing 
how much behind you I am ! You have the 
greatest gift of all — imagination, and it is the 
thing I have always longed for most. I think 
I could have forgiven you everything but that. 
I was jealous about your play, too, although I 
would n’t own it, and pretended, even to my- 
self, that I was perfectly delighted. I don’t 
think, though, I was jealous about the praise ; 
what I envied was the power to do it ! ” Louise 
added this last reflectively, and stopped to 
weep a little more. 

“ Don’t talk that way, please,” pleaded 
Margy. 

“ And there was something else. I was 
afraid Ted would grow to like you better than 
me. You are so pretty, and he adores beauty 
in girls. And then I couldn’t help seeing how 
you were improving, and I — oh, dear, what a 
monster I am ! ” Both girls were weeping so 
hard by this time that they could n’t speak. 


LOUISE FINDS OUT THE TRUTH. 171 


“You need n’t be afraid of that,” said Margy 
at length. “Ted is absolutely indifferent to 
me, and he is very fond of you. I always ap- 
pear so young and stupid to him, because I am 
conscious of how little I interest him.” 

“ We are both too young to interest him,” 
Louise said, sadly. “ I never knew that until 
I saw him with Miss Hope-Woods. It made 
me realize what a lot I had to learn.” 

“ Then, what must I have ! ” groaned Margy. 
“ I am going to hurry up and have some ex- 
perience,” she added. “ Apart from the ques- 
tion of Ted, I don’t see how I can write any- 
thing worth writing before I do. I ’d like to 
fall in love with one of the Hollistqr boys, but 
I can’t make up my mind which I like best.” 

“ Do as I do, adore them both,” Louise ad- 
vised. 

“ Oh, I could n’t. That would be too gen- 
eral to do any good as experience. If I were 
a boy, I might do lots of things, but I don’t see 
anything for a girl to do except just live, and 
that is such a slow way. I used to think I ’d 
had some experience because I went to some 
dancing-school parties at home, and had to 
split my dances at the last one ; but I don’t 
believe it amounted to much after all.” 

“ I never even did that,” said Louise in such 


172 AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 

a mournful tone that they both laughed. The 
conversation became more cheerful after that. 

“ But I have n’t told you about your play,” 
Louise said at length. “ We had better talk 
it out now, so that it won’t be a sore subject. 
The Friday Night Club is going to give it as 
a curtain raiser next Friday, and Ted has seats 
for you and me, and Miss Healey says we may 
go. And Mother and Father will be back on 
Tuesday, and you are coming to stay all night 
at our house and go from there.” Margy was 
more disconcerted than pleased at this news, 
delightful as the prospect for Friday was. 

“ Are you going home so soon ? ” she asked 
in dismay. . 

“ Oh, dear, no ; I am going to stay here the 
rest of the year, it ’s so nearly finished. It is 
hard for me to study at home, I am so inter- 
rupted, and examinations are coming.” 

“I ’m so glad ! ” exclaimed Margy. “ I was 
afraid you were going away just when we were 
going to be friends.” The dinner bell put an 
end to this conversation. Neither of the girls 
had noticed the dressing bell, so they had to 
go down as they were. 

The week that followed was the pleasantest 
of Margy ’s school year. Neither Louise nor 
Edith could make enough of her by way of 


LOUISE FINDS OUT THE TRUTH. 173 

showing their regret. Mrs. Meredith herself 
came to see her two days after her return, and 
treated her in such an intimate, loving way 
that Margy never felt afraid of her again. Ted 
wrote her a long, affectionate letter in an en- 
tirely different style from the notes she had 
received from him. Even the scolding he 
gave her for being such a chump as not to ex- 
plain her errand to Louise was delightful. He 
christened her Casabianca, and ever afterwards 
called her by that name when he wanted to 
tease her. 

The much-wished-for Friday came at last, 
and at five the Merediths’ carriage was at the 
door for them. They had both worked hard 
all the week, so they felt free to enjoy them- 
selves. They were not to return until Mon- 
day morning. 

First, there was the fun of dressing in the 
beautiful, luxurious room that opened out of 
Louise’s. Mrs. Meredith’s maid did her hair 
for her, and Margy was prouder than ever 
of having such handsome toilet articles. She 
also enjoyed the maid’s exclamations over her 
lovely lace, as she put on her white silk gown. 
Then she could not help a thrill of pleasure 
as she looked at herself in the long glass. 

“ How sweet you look, Margy ! ” Louise 


174 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


exclaimed, as she came through the open door- 
way. Louise looked well, too, in a crepe of 
the palest shade of gray. The next delight- 
ful thing was the maid’s coming back with a 
box which she presented to the girls with Mr. 
Edward’s compliments. In it was a bunch of 
pink sweetbriar roses for Margy and some 
lilies of the valley for Louise. They were still 
exclaiming over them when Ted appeared in 
the open doorway. 

“My, but you’re swells!” he exclaimed. 
“ You don’t expect those sleeves to go in the 
carriage with us, do you, Louise ? I say, 
Margy,” he added, when the girls had thanked 
him for the flowers, “ I had no idea you were 
so pretty.” Margy blushed with pleasure. Ted 
was in the best of spirits. Louise noticed that 
he kept smiling to himself. 

“ I believe you have some joke on, Ted 
Meredith ! ” she exclaimed, as they went along 
the hall. “ I ’ll make you tell me what it is 
before we get to the foot of the stairs. I know 
a way to get anything out of him, Margy. All 
I have to do is to hint at a certain something 
I know, and he ’ll do anything under the sun for 
me. Who ’s afraid of the dark, Ted ?” 

“ Before we get to the bottom of the stairs, 
did you say, Louise ? ” 


LOUISE FINDS OUT THE TRUTH. 175 

“ Before we get half-way down, provided 
you don’t run.” 

“ I won’t run, but — ” and springing on the 
banisters, he slid all the way down the two 
flights of stairs. 

“ Before I got to the bottom, did you say ?” 
he called up to Louise, and making her a bow 
he disappeared in the drawing-room door. A 
few minutes later, the girls found him talking 
seriously and sedately with Mr. Meredith. The 
latter greeted Margy with the greatest cordi- 
ality, spoke of her father in terms of the high- 
est praise, and, altogether, treated her like a 
distinguished guest. 

“ Why does n’t Joseph announce dinner ? It 
must be time,” said Louise. 

“We are expecting some company,” Mrs. 
Meredith answered, with a smile. 

“Who is it?” Louise demanded. 

“Wait and see,” replied her mother. Just 
then the door bell rang, and, a moment later, 
Joseph ushered in two young men. They 
shook hands with Mrs. Meredith and Mr. 
Meredith, and nodded to Ted ; and then Mrs. 
Meredith said : 

“ I don’t think either of you have met my 
daughter and her friend, Miss Brooks. Louise, 
Margy, this is Mr. Hollister and Mr. Tom 


176 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


Hollister.” It was fortunate the girls had a 
moment to prepare themselves. By the time 
the introduction came, neither showed the 
slightest surprise or discomposure, not even 
when Ted went out into the hall, and, taking 
a coat tail in each hand, danced a ballet in 
plain sight of the girls, looking mischievously 
triumphant. Neither of the Hollisters could 
see him, but Mrs. Meredith did, and going out 
into the hall herself, she put a stop to his 
performances and made him behave. 

At dinner Margy sat between Mr. Meredith 
and Mr. Tom Hollister. She was so rattled 
that she could not think of anything to say, 
and was glad when Mr. Meredith began to 
talk to her. At the first pause in their con- 
versation, she was surprised to have Tom 
Hollister say to her : 

“ I have been so anxious to meet you, Miss 
Brooks.” Margy was struck dumb with amaze- 
ment. Were her curtains thinner than she 
thought, and had he watched her as well as 
she him ? She showed her amazement so 
plainly in the tone in which she answered, 
“Me?” that Tom laughed. 

“ Yes, you. Why should n’t I want to meet 
a distinguished authoress, I ’d like to know ?” 


LOUISE FINDS OUT THE TRUTH. 177 

“ Oh ! ” Margy exclaimed in a tone of com- 
prehension. Tom laughed again. 

“ I believe you had forgotten your role. 
You must have adopted it recently. You see, 
my cousin Miss Harper is to take the part of 
your heroine to-night, and she has said so 
much of the cleverness of the play, and of how 
it was written by so young a girl, that she 
excited my curiosity.” 

“How did you know I was I?” asked 
Margy, her wits coming back to her, as she 
tried in vain to realize that she was talking to 
Tom Hollister in the flesh, and that he had 
actually wanted to meet her. Her thoughts 
went back to that last miserable Saturday after- 
noon when she had grieved at being absolutely 
unknown to him. 

“ Why, I lunched with Meredith by chance 
at the club this noon, and, of course, we spqke 
of the theatricals this evening. Then it natu- 
rally came out that you were his cousin, and he 
was kind enough to invite my brother and me 
here to dinner to-night to meet you. It was 
very simple. Is it quite satisfactory?” Tom 
laughed, and Margy laughed too. 

“ I beg your pardon,” she said. “ It seemed 
so funny — the idea of anybody’s even saying 


178 AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 

they wanted to meet me. I had forgotten 
about my play.” 

“ I don’t see what ’s so funny about it,” said 
Tom. Margy recovered herself, feeling that 
this was not a good way to make an impression 
on Mr. Tom Hollister. Naturally, he would 
take her at her own valuation. 

“ Oh,” she said, “ it’s not that I am not very 
well worth knowing, but I did n’t see how a 
stranger found it out.” She said this perfectly 
simply, without a particle of manner or affec- 
tation. Ted, who happened to be looking at 
her from across the table, smiled approval. 

“ How do you know but that I have long 
known you by sight, and longed to meet you ? ” 
asked Tom. Margy looked at him in un- 
feigned amazement, and then both she and 
Ted burst out laughing. Tom looked per- 
plexed. 

“What have I said?” he demanded. “I 
say, Ted, it’s not fair making game of a fellow 
in your own house.” Tom Hollister was evi- 
dently good-natured, for he laughed too, with- 
out having the slightest idea what they were 
laughing at. Both Margy and Ted apologized 
profusely, feeling very much ashamed of them- 
selves, but did not explain. 

A few minutes later, in the natural course 


LOUISE FINDS OUT THE TRUTH. 179 

of conversation, Tom said something about 
the street on which he lived. 

“Where do you live?” asked Margy, inno- 
cently. Just then she caught Ted’s eye, and 
it was all both of them could do to keep from 
laughing again. Their state of mind was so 
infectious that they got the others laughing 
too. Altogether, it was the jolliest, most en- 
joyable little dinner. Just the thought of it 
alone was enough to make Margy happy for a 
long time to come. It was so delightful, too, 
to find the Hollister boys as nice as they 
looked. And to think that they wanted to 
meet her ! Then, crowing over Edith would 
be such fun. The little mystery made it all 
the more enjoyable. The drive to the theat- 
ricals was also a joy, though rather a perilous 
one. They all five went in one carriage. Mr. 
and Mrs. Meredith did not have tickets, so Ted 
was to chaperon the girls. All the way there 
he kept making jokes and allusions that made 
them feel as if they were skating on thin ice. 

It was the proudest, happiest moment of 
Margy’s life as she sat there between Ted and 
Tom Hollister, waiting for the curtain to rise. 
The success of the former performance had 
taken away the intense agitation and nervous- 
ness that she had felt on that occasion. Still, 


180 AN UNLESSONED GIRL . 

this was a little agitating, though not so much 
‘SO as to be painful. Ted understood this, for 
he gave her hand a squeeze under cover of the 
opera cloak Louise had lent her. It seemed 
to Margy that all the dreams of her girlhood 
had come true. The farce was well acted and 
a great success, more so than the longer play 
that followed. When they were waiting for 
the last act of this, Louise leaned over and 
said to Ted : 

“ What do you think of it ? ” 

“ Pretty fair for amateurs,” he answered, so 
low that nobody else could hear him. Louise 
sighed in a hopeless way. 

“ I might have known you would n’t admit 
it,” she complained. “ I think it ’s fully as 
good as professional. I am sure Miss Harper 
was divine, and two such different parts as this 
and Margy’s ! It shows real genius. Why, I 
can hardly remember it’s the same girl.” 

“ How strange that we should n’t agree,” 
said Ted. “ Louise and I are usually two souls 
with but a single thought, Tom. I do agree 
with her about your cousin,” he added under 
his breath. “ I think she is a winner. I was 
just teasing her.” 

“ The Milky Way is very proud of her,” said 
Tom. 


LOUISE FINDS OUT THE TRUTH. 181 


“The Milky Way?” inquired Margy. 

“ Have n’t you heard ? Meredith christened 
the Friday Night Club that because there are 
such lots of dim little stars in it, and the name 
has stuck to it.” 

“You should n’t repeat such things before 
the children,” remonstrated Ted. “They’ll be 
thinking I swear next.” 

“ My thoughts on that subject are already 
made up,” said Louise, severely. 

“ What ’s the odds ! ” exclaimed Tom. “ ‘ I 
often say “dim!” myself, — and I am a good 
man too.’ ” 

Lots of people wanted to be introduced to 
Margy after the performance was over, and 
she enjoyed the first taste of importance she 
had ever had. It seemed so strange to be for 
once of more consequence than Louise. The 
drive home, the delightful Saturday and Sun- 
day, were parts of the same heavenly dream. 
It was hard to go back ; but Mr. and Mrs. 
Meredith both invited her cordially to come 
again. H ow she enjoyed writing home a full 
account of it all to Louise ! The most delightful 
remembrance of all the visit, however, was 
some words that Ted said to her the night of 
the play. They were standing at the top of 
the stairs together. Margy was waiting for 


182 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


Louise, who had gone into her mother’s 
room. 

“ I was so proud of you to-night, Margy,” 
he said, laying his hand on her shoulder. “ You 
behaved like a thorough-bred. By Jove, I 
don’t think I could have been as natural and 
unexcited in your place. Why, you did n’t 
even let your voice get up, and you did n’t 
talk a bit faster than usual.” 

“ I held tight hold of myself,” Margy an- 
swered. “ Thank you for saying it, Ted. You 
have been a good friend to me,” and taking 
Ted’s hand in both hers, she gave it an affec- 
tionate squeeze. 


CHAPTER X. 


THE SUMMER VACATION. 

T HE weeks that followed until the end of 
the term were almost equally agreeable. 
Something pleasant seemed to happen 
every day. Once, as Margy was walking up 
the avenue with Miss Humphreys, she met 
the Hollisters, and had the pleasure of re- 
ceiving two bows and two of the most cordial 
smiles from them. She had been afraid they 
would n’t know her in street clothes. It was 
more interesting than ever to watch their com- 
ings and goings now. 

Margy’s misunderstanding with Louise had 
more than one beneficial effect. When she 
had been thrown on herself, she had had to 
study harder than ever for something to occupy 
her mind ; and the result was that the prelimi- 
nary examinations for college had fewer ter- 
rors. She felt that she had done well in them ; 
but her standing relative to the other girls 
133 


1 84 AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 

could not be known until the following year, 
when the rest of the examinations had been 
taken. 

It was hard to leave a life of excitement and 
interest to go back to a dull little country 
town ; harder to leave Louise and Ted and 
Miss Humphreys. Still, she had something to 
console her in the prospect of a visit to Louise 
at her aunt’s in Vermont, later in the summer. 
Home did seem duller than ever after the first 
excitement of getting there was over. She did 
not even have Alys Morgan for companion- 
ship, she and her mother having moved away 
from the town. Margy was not sorry, for there 
had ceased to be any congeniality between 
them. The home atmosphere was a little less 
electrical than it used to be, for Mrs. Brooks 
assumed less authority, Eliza was more re- 
spectful, and Margy herself exercised more 
self-control. She really tried her best to be a 
more agreeable member of the family circle ; 
and, on the whole, succeeded, although there 
were occasional lapses into irritability, discon- 
tent, and unreasonableness. Mrs. Brooks felt 
so much encouraged that she wrote a letter of 
thanks to Ted. 

All the long summer mornings and after- 
noons, after the housework was done, Margy sat 


THE SUMMER VACATION. 185 

and sewed, exerting all her pains and ingenuity 
to make a satisfactory wardrobe out of scanty 
resources. Mrs. Brooks had a trunk of old 
dresses, and these were a great help. Margy 
felt she had never appreciated Louise and her 
unselfish nature sufficiently, when she saw how 
willing she was to have the best of the treas- 
ures given to Margy. She even begged her 
mother to give her more. 

“ I don’t care for clothes,” she urged, “and 
Margy does. I really prefer to have an old dress 
on to a new. Besides, I don’t show off my clothes 
— nobody ever notices what I have on, — and 
if they did, there is n’t any one here to notice. 
Don’t keep any for me, Mother ! ” Mrs. Brooks 
insisted on keeping several, however. The 
gowns were all of silk, and made in the days of 
hoops. They were fresh, too, having been laid 
aside for mourning. There was one lovely pink 
silk that had been made to order in Lyons. 
This had voluminous flounces, with a pattern 
in another shade of pink woven in them. 
Margy wanted this, but Mrs. Brooks said she 
was too young, and would want it more later. 
She let her have two others that were more 
suitable, however. Louise usually sewed with 
Margy, and she was never tired of hearing her 
tell tales of her school life. It seemed most 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL . 


1 86 

interesting and eventful to them both. The 
favorite story was, of course, the night of the 
Friday Night Club theatricals. Late in the 
afternoon, when it grew cooler, the girls would 
take a row on the river, or a walk, and in the 
evening they took turns reading aloud. Not 
a stimulating existence, and one that would 
have become unendurable to an ambitious girl 
like Margy if its duration had been indefinite. 
She never let herself think of the time when 
she should have to settle down to it. She also 
refused to let her mind dwell on the possibility 
of going to college, not wishing to increase a 
probable disappointment. 

Margy had come home full of the idea of 
writing something that would add to her 
literary reputation, and show her friends 
that her first attempt had not been merely a 
flash in the pan. She had to give up this idea, 
for no matter how many times she sat down 
with her old exercise-book and pencil in hand, 
no plots or ideas of any value suggested them- 
selves. Her farce had been, like the minute 
bunches of lilac that one finds out of season, a 
promise, not of present fulfilment, but of what 
would be done at the proper blossoming time. 

Late in July she received the following 
letter from Ted : 


THE SUMMER VACATION. 187 

Bar Harbor, Something or Other Somethingth. 
Dear Margy : A - D - 

Just before I left town, I came across the accompany- 
ing photograph, which I thought it might comfort you to 
have. I had forgotten I had it. I have been meaning 
to send it ever since, but, someway, never got to it. 
Don’t let yourself dwell too fondly on it, however, for — 
for — for — I am trying to break it to you gradually — you 
and I are at present companions in misery. ‘ My Ginny,’ 
as you call her, has thrown me over for your Tom. 
Louise told you she was up here, did n’t she ? She called 
me * Mr. Meredith ’ yesterday. She is a mighty nice girl 
all the same, and I don’t blame her for liking Tom Hol- 
lister. He is no end of a fine fellow, and so is Arthur, 
though I consider it very magnanimous in me to say so. 
Louise is heart-broken that neither of them have been to 
see us since they have been here, or taken any especial 
notice of her. To think that we all three are in the same 
box ! Our family can’t be very attractive. I bear up 
wonderfully, although I only eat four meals a day and 
sleep ten hours at night. Don’t be anxious, though. It 
is unreasonable to expect a blighted being to do more in 
the first flush of his grief. Dolly Harper is as white as 
her cousins. I never really knew her before. I have 
managed to brace up sufficiently to take her out in my 
canoe several times. Of course it is only bravado, but I 
can’t let my Ginny see how I am pining away. She (D. 
H.) asked me a lot about you the other day, and was very 
enthusiastic about your farce. Louise says she is going 
to write to you in a few days. She is as brown as the 
traditional berry, and eats enough for two strong men. 
She is never still a minute. I would n’t be so energetic 
for worlds. She is looking forward to your visit, 
although I don’t think she is very anxious to leave 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


188 

Bar Harbor. I suppose you are all well as usual, and 
that you are busy getting ready to go back to school. 
How do you get along with Eliza ? When you feel in- 
clined to throw the fire-irons at her, count ten before you 
do it. That ’s the safest rule, and one that I always 
follow in similar cases. It makes the aim more deadly. 
Another plan is not to throw anything at all, but to sit 
down in the most comfortable chair you can find and 
utter all the expletives in your vocabulary. Satisfactory 
results are obtained from either method. 

Now, Margy, don’t let Louise, prim little Louise, see 
this letter. She could never understand such silly people 
as you and me, and would look down on me ever after- 
wards. Give her my love, though. Aunt Madeline 
sends her love and some messages that I have forgotten. 
I don’t think she could have expected me to remember 
them. 

Your affectionate cousin and guardian, 

Edward Van Dyke Meredith. 

Margy was both pleased and surprised at 
getting this letter, — surprised because out of 
sight was generally out of mind with Ted. 
He lived in the present, and each passing mo- 
ment gave him so much pleasure that he did 
not have to seek it either in memory or antici- 
pation. The photograph represented Tom 
Hollister dressed as a ballet girl, — evidently 
taken after some college theatricals. He wore 
tights, a wig, innumerable gauzy skirts, and 
was pirouetting on one toe in the approved 
fashion. Margy would not have known who 


THE SUMMER VACATION. 189 

it was if she had not been told. Beneath was 
written in Ted’s writing : “For the great and 
only Margy from her Tommy.” 

The first of September came at last, and 
with it Margy’s visit to Louise at the old 
Meredith homestead. Louise met her at the 
station with a shabby old horse and buggy. 

“ I ’m so glad you ’ve come ! ” she exclaimed. 
“ I have been so afraid something would hap- 
pen to prevent you. Aunt Abby is so anxious 
to see you, too. 1 1 seems she knew your father. 
Did you know that ? He used to visit rela- 
tives of his here, and it was here that Ted’s 
father met his mother, your Aunt Louise. 
Aunt Abby has been telling me some delight- 
ful stories of old times, and I ’ll get her to 
tell them to you too. Aunt Louise and she 
were great friends.” 

They drove through the little village, and 
out on a shady road beside a sleepy river. 
The old Meredith house lay half a mile from 
the village, in about fifty acres of wooded 
ground, all that was left of the old farm. The 
house was built with a projecting second-story 
supported by great pillars. There were four 
large square rooms and a hall below, and four 
large square rooms and a hall above, with a 
kitchen in a wing. 


190 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


“ Aunt Abby is at the sewing circle, but she 
will be home before long,” Louise explained, 
as she led the way across the porch and through 
the open doorway up the stairs. “You and I 
have the whole upstairs to ourselves,” she went 
on. “Aunt Abby uses only the downstairs 
when she is here alone. Here comes your 
trunk. I ’ll tell Aaron — he ’s the expressman 
— to bring it up, and you can unpack while I 
unharness old Charley.” 

“ Do you unharness him yourself?” asked 
Margy in amazement. 

“ Why, yes. Every morning Johnny Lewis 
comes over and grooms him — as much as he 
is groomed, — and cleans the stable, but I 
harness and unharness him and give him his 
supper.” 

In a little while, Louise came back. She 
had an anxious little pucker in her forehead. 

“ I don’t know whether I ought to have 
asked you here, Margy,” she began when she 
had seated herself on the foot of the bed. 
Margy stopped unpacking, and stared at her 
in amazement, wondering what was coming 
next. 

“Perhaps I ’d better go home again,” she 
answered, picking up her hat. 

“O come off!” Louise exclaimed inele- 


THE SUMMER VACATION. 191 

gantly. “ It is only you I am thinking of. I 
know you like excitement and luxury, and you 
won’t have a particle of either here. It is 
deadly dull, and there is ’t much luxury when 
you do your own work. I had my doubts, I 
admit, when I asked you, but I thought it 
would be so nice to have you to go around 
with. Besides, I did want to ask you to 
visit me some time this summer, and I could 
have you only a few days at Bar Harbor, we 
had invited so many people, and it would n’t 
have been worth while for you to go so far for 
that. So I wrote to Aunt Abby, and asked 
her if I might.” 

“ Come off yourself,” Margy answered. “ I 
am only too delighted to come. You were 
thinking my surprise about the horse was airs. 
It was n’t at all. It was only surprise that you 
should do it. It would have seemed perfectly 
appropriate for me. I am so glad to have the 
chance to be with you.” Margy added this 
last a little shyly. Louise was equally shy 
about expressing affection, so she only said : 

“ I think we shall hit it off very well to- 
gether.” 

“ I would rather visit you here than any- 
where, — under these circumstances, I mean,” 
Margy went on, “ and I will tell you why. It 


192 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


seems to bring us nearer together to have you 
doing the things I have always done, house- 
work and such. I have never taken care of a 
horse, because we could never afford to keep 
one. You need not be afraid of my finding 
it dull. You don’t know what I am used to 
at home. Then, I don’t think any place could 
be very dull where you were, Louise.” 

“ I am glad you feel that way,” was all 
Louise said, but she looked much pleased. 

Presently Aunt Abby came home, and the 
girls went down to meet her. She was a thin, 
angular little woman, with the shyest manners 
and the sweetest smile in the world. Margy 
lost her heart to her immediately. 

“Now, Aunt Abby, let us get tea,” Louise 
said. “You go and sit on the porch, and I ’ll 
tell you when it ’s ready. Margy is accus- 
tomed to housework and all that sort of thing, 
you know, and I have promised her she shall 
do just as much as I do.” 

“ Aunt Abby would n’t let me,” Louise went 
on when they were in the kitchen, “ if Mother 
had not made such a point of it. She has 
done everything so long that it has got to be 
a second nature to her. It is really hard work 
for her to sit by and let me do things. We 
always have a cold supper, so there is only 


THE SUMMER VACATION . 


i93 


the table to set, and the rolls to bake. The 
oven will be all right in a minute or two. I 
made the fire before I went up-stairs.” They 
had cold chicken, hot rolls, tea, honey, and 
cake for supper, all as good as they could be. 

“You ought to have seen Ted when he first 
sat down to one of our teas,” Louise remarked 
when they were at the table. “He did n’t 
know Aunt Abby well enough then to make 
any suggestions, — not that it takes much 
knowing with him. He ate everything in 
sight ; but that night, some time after I had 
gone to bed, I was awakened by a gentle knock 
at my door. There was Ted. He was so 
hungry he could n’t go to sleep v and he wanted 
me to get him something to eat. We went 
down into the kitchen, but Aunt Abby heard 
us and came out to see what was the matter.” 
Louise stopped and began to laugh. “ O 
Aunt Abby,” she broke off, “ I shall never 
forget your expression when you came out and 
found Ted sitting on the table in those gor- 
geous pajamas of his, Indian red and white 
barred, with a drum-stick in each hand, and 
me in a dressing-gown cutting bread and but- 
ter for him ! ” 

“ I had not known any boys or young men 
for so long that I had forgotten what appe- 

*3 


94 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


tites they had,” explained Aunt Abby. “ After 
that, he had some ham and eggs or some 
baked beans or something substantial for 
supper,” she added. 

“And you don’t eat enough yourself to keep 
a canary alive,” said Louise. 

The next few weeks flew by. The work 
was so light that it seemed almost nothing 
when divided in three parts, so the girls had 
long afternoons to explore, sometimes on 
foot, sometimes on the river, and sometimes 
with old Charley and the buggy. They found 
each other very congenial, and grew better 
friends every day. Margy could hardly like 
Louise more than she did already, but Louise 
grew very fond of Margy, It was as Ted had 
often told her, — all Margy ’s faults were in 
plain sight. They had one disappointment 
in finding that Ted, who had half promised to 
run up for a few days, was going on a coach- 
ing trip with some friends instead. Miss 
Harper and the Hollisters were to be of the 
party. 

“ I never really thought he would come,” 
said Margy. 

“ Neither did I,” said Louise. “ Ted always 
has so many invitations that he generally ends 
by doing what is nearest and easiest, or what 


THE SUMMER VACATION. 


J 95 


those actually with him want him to do. Oh 
dear, Margy, don’t you wish you were a man ?” 

“ No,” answered Margy, “ I should prefer 
to be a girl, provided I could be the kind of 
girl I wanted to be.” 

“ I ’ll wager I could guess what kind that 
is.” 

“ Guess ahead.” 

“ Well, you want to be rich, and, being 
yourself, of course you ’d be pretty, and to be 
tremendously attractive, and to have all the 
men, including the Hollister boys, madly in 
love with you.” 

“ What ’s remarkable about that ? Is n’t that 
what all girls wish ? ” 

“What they wish, perhaps, but not what 
they want with their whole souls. I should 
like to be all that myself, especially the pretty 
part of it, but I know I should be perfectly 
contented without it. What I really want is 
to be a man, to be independent, to be free to 
come and go, to lean against a door at parties 
and watch other fellows ask girls to dance.” 

“ Oh ,no ! ” exclaimed Margy. “You ’d never 
do that, Louise. You ’d never watch when 
anything was going on.” 

“ Perhaps not ; but I should like to feel I 
could watch if I wanted to.” 


196 AN UNLESSONED GIRL . 

“ I should n’t, for I am quite certain I should 
never want to,” said Margy. 

The week before the girls went back to 
school, they had a delightful surprise. Late 
one afternoon, Louise came running up to 
Margy’s room with a telegram in her hand. 

“Just listen to this!” she exclaimed, and 
read aloud the following : “ ‘ Greenfield, 4 p.m. 
Will call upon you at five to-morrow on our 
way to Kent. E. V. M.’ I suppose they are 
going to drive to Kent by moonlight,” she went 
on breathlessly. “ I am going to telegraph to 
them at Greenfield to come to supper. That’s 
what Ted telegraphed for, I ’ll wager. Of 
course, he could n’t bring all those people 
down on us without warning. There are 
twelve of them and two grooms. I ’ll go down 
to the office right after supper.” Before they 
went to bed, Louise received the following 
message : “ Accept with pleasure. Ten of us. 
Must leave by eight,” 

The next day was spent in an enchanted 
hurry. The girls were up at six, and by two 
in the afternoon everything was ready. Even 
the table was set. Aunt Abby had insisted 
on doing whatever cooking was to be done at 
the last minute. 

It had been a lovely autumn day, but early 


THE SUMMER VACATION. 


197 


in the afternoon it clouded over and showed 
signs of rain. The girls were lamenting this 
as they sat on the front steps waiting for their 
guests. It was half-past five before they 
heard the tooting of the horns, and a few min- 
utes later, the coach drawn by four bay horses 
came in sight around a bend of the road. 
Arthur Hollister was driving, with a very 
pretty girl beside him, whose name, Louise 
said, was Mary Atherton. Ted was in back 
somewhere, but he stood up, waved his hat, 
and shouted when he saw the girls. Miss 
Harper and the Hollisters were the only ones 
of the party whom Margy had met, but Louise 
knew them all. 

“We are a chaperonless party,” Miss Harper 
said to Margy. “ Mrs. and Mr. Harry Ather- 
ton are chaperoning us, and they went to Kent 
by train this morning to see their baby who is 
staying there with old Mrs. Atherton. It seems 
he is getting a double tooth, and Mrs. Harry 
was anxious, so we suggested driving around 
this way and taking a look at him. It was 
only a little farther, and we did n’t care about 
its not being so picturesque.” 

“ It was lovely for us that you did,” said 
Margy. 

“ Where ’s Aunt Abby, Margy ? ” called out 


198 AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 

Ted, who had been getting something one of 
the girls wanted from the coach. 

“In the kitchen. She won’t appear till 
supper time. She wished us to make her 
excuses.” 

“ I ’ll go out and see her,” and Ted disap- 
peared. 

It was a delicious, home-made, country sup- 
per that they sat down to, and they all showed 
their appreciation by the amount they ate. 
Margy and Louise waited, and occasionally 
sent Ted on an errand, which he did not en- 
joy. Consequently, he pretended even denser 
ignorance than he possessed, insisting on being 
told minutely where everything was. At last, 
Louise sent him for some hot water. 

“ Where shall I get it ? ” he demanded. 

“In the refrigerator,” said Margy. Ted 
obediently went to the refrigerator, and came 
back saying mournfully : 

“ I can’t find any there.” They gave him 
all sorts of directions, and he wandered around 
in apparent helplessness until Louise took the 
pitcher out of his hand. After that, to his 
great satisfaction, they let him eat his supper 
in peace, and such a supper as he did eat ! 
They had only just begun when it started in 
to rain ; and by the time they had finished, 


THE SUMMER VACATION. 


igg 


the rain was coming down in torrents, almost 
like a cloud-burst. Aunt Abby insisted that 
they should stay all night. One of the grooms 
should be sent to telegraph to Mrs. Atherton, 
and to tell the Lewises, who took summer 
boarders, to have rooms ready for those whom 
the house would not hold. They refused to 
hear to it at first, but finally they consented, 
the girls making it a condition that they should 
be allowed to help. It took a marvellously 
short space of time to clear up, with Margy 
and Louise both washing dishes, four of the 
girls wiping, and Dolly Harper helping Aunt 
Abby put away the remains of the supper. 
The men were carefully locked out. It had 
turned quite cold, so the fire of blazing logs 
in the parlor was a great luxury. 

They had a very jolly evening. First, Ted, 
Tom Hollister, and one of the other men, a 
Mr. Curtis, who had matured their plans while 
they were smoking, announced that they were 
going to give a series of charades, dedicated 
to the different girls in turn. The first one 
would be dedicated to Miss Atherton. Then 
the door opened, and Ted came in with a large 
palette made of pasteboard on his thumb, and 
a whitewash brush in his hand. He set up a 
piece of board on a chair, and began to paint 


200 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


at it with his brush, stopping occasionally to 
mix colors, and stepping back to look at it 
with the most ridiculous airs, his head on one 
side. The next syllable was a vase of green 
leaves picked off a bush by the front door. 
For the third and last, Mr. Curtis came in 
with a punch bowl and ladle, and pretended 
to mix up a punch, which he stirred vigor- 
ously with his ladle. Nobody could guess this 
for some minutes, until Dolly Harper called 
out : 

“ I know what it is ! Art. Hollister ! ” A 
perfect shout went up at this. Margy expected 
Miss Atherton and Arthur to blush and be 
disconcerted at this publicity, but they seemed 
to enjoy it as much as the others. Each of 
the girls in turn was favored with a charade 
more or less ridiculous and far-fetched, based 
on some favorite pursuit or hobby, on some 
joke, or some man she was supposed to ad- 
mire. Margy was dreadfully afraid the irre- 
pressible Ted would give her one, but he 
declared Margy and Louise were too young 
for such nonsense. In fact, he did n’t know 
but that they had better be sent to bed. 

When they had finished, Dolly and Miss 
Atherton, who had been consulting together 
in the intervals, announced that they would 


THE SUMMER VACATION. 


201 


return the compliment. The first would be 
dedicated conjointly to Mr. Meredith and Mr. 
Tom Hollister. They went out with Louise, 
and soon came back in a small procession, 
draped in sheets, with lamps in their hands. 
The first one carried a piece of burning wood 
in a tin pan. After this, they came in and 
talked German to each other. Mary asked a 
series of questions, every one of which Dolly 
answered in the affirmative. The next sylla- 
ble was represented by Mary Atherton dressed 
in a blue dressing gown of Louise’s, with her 
hair down her back, and gazing into space. 
Her attitude was so exactly that of the well- 
known picture that some one cried “ Hope,” 
and then they all shouted “Virginia Hope- 
Woods ! ” 

“ That ’s not fair. You ought not to guess 
until we have finished. You sha’n’t have the 
last syllable now. Of course, we knew the 
charade would be perfectly self-evident.” 
They next gave rather an elaborate one for 
Mr. Curtis, which Margy did not appreciate, 
as she did not understand the allusion. The 
others got laughing so that the charades were 
given up. Aunt Abby now excused herself 
and went to bed. She had not quite known 
what to make of the evening’s amusement, it 


202 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


was so different from anything she had ever 
done in her youth. She enjoyed it tremen- 
dously, at the same time that she thought it 
childish for grown-up people. 

When she had gone, at Dolly’s suggestion, 
they put out the lamp, went and sat down on 
the hearth rug and told ghost stories. Mr. 
Curtis, who was a splendid story-teller and 
mimic, knew dozens of thrilling ones. Dolly, 
too, knew some rather dreadful ones. They 
sat there until very late, the men declaring 
they were so frightened they did not dare go 
over to the Lewises to bed. Then Ted an- 
nounced that he was hungry. 

“ After all that supper ! ” exclaimed Louise, 
but she went and got a saucepan and made 
chocolate for them all. Tom Hollister made 
a big plate of toast, and Margy buttered it, 
and they had a jolly little impromptu supper. 

Much to Margy’s delight, it was arranged 
that Miss Harper should share her room. 
Louise would sleep with Aunt Abby. Margy 
had lost her heart to Dolly, she was so pretty 
and so clever and so lady-like and so full of 
fun. Then, she was very kind and friendly to 
her. Margy was so happy and so excited 
that she could not go to sleep, and she was so 
afraid she would disturb Miss Harper that she 


THE SUMMER VACATION. 203 

lay in a cramped, uncomfortable position. 
After she had been in bed a long, long time 
she could not help turning and sighing. 

“Are you awake, Margy?” asked Dolly. 
“You don’t mind my calling you Margy?” 

“ I think it would be silly to call me any- 
thing else,” Margy answered. 

“ I don’t know. Young girls often resent 
liberties.” 

“It depends on who takes them,” said Margy. 
Miss Harper laughed. 

“ Yes, indeed,” she said, with more emphasis 
than the occasion demanded. “ Take to-night, 
for instance. I should not have liked it at all 
having Mr. Small’s name publicly connected 
with mine in that ridiculous charade, if it had 
been any one but Tom and your cousin Ted 
who did it.” 

“You can’t get angry at Ted,” said Margy. 

“ It is just as well you can’t,” Dolly replied. 
“He is sometimes outrageous. You can’t 
help liking him all the same,” she added. 

“ Yes : and he has a great many other sides 
besides the one he shows when he is off on a 
vacation,” Margy began. Dolly was evidently 
interested in the subject, and in answer to her 
questions, Margy told her about all he had 
done for her, and of many other little virtuous 


504 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


inconsistencies in his character that had come 
to her knowledge. Someway, she admired 
Miss Harper so much that she wanted her to 
appreciate Ted, and she was afraid he had 
been showing her only the flippant, boyish 
side of his nature. 

Altogether, Margy did not have more than 
two hours’ sleep that night ; for she was down 
at six, helping Aunt Abby and Louise get 
breakfast and put the house in order. Dolly 
came down at seven. All three girls were in 
the kitchen, Margy and Louise clearing away 
the grooms’ breakfast and Dolly sitting in Aunt 
Abby’s chair, knitting on her stocking, when 
Ted came in, bringing Tom Hollister with 
him. Dolly had put on Aunt Abby’s cap and 
spectacles, and had her back to the door. Ted 
went straight over to her. 

“ Good morning, Aunt Abby,” he said, and 
stooped as if he were going to kiss her. 
Dolly jumped up with a little shriek, and Ted 
drew back in such pretended horror and amaze- 
ment that they all shouted. 

“To think that I might really have made 
such a mistake ! ” he exclaimed in pious thanks- 
giving. 

After breakfast was cleared away, Miss 
Atherton made a suggestion that filled the 


THE SUMMER VACATION. 205 

girls with delight. It was that Margy and 
Louise should drive over to Kent with them 
and come back by train. They flew to get 
ready, for the rain had stopped in the night, 
and the sun was shining. The drive was 
lovely. They were all a little tired and sub- 
dued, but it was none the less enjoyable on 
that account. Margy sat between Dolly and 
Tom Hollister, and felt that her cup of happi- 
ness was running over. They found the baby 
all right, had luncheon at the Athertons’, and 
were driven down to the station in the Ather- 
ton carriage, after a grateful farewell from the 
coaching party. Even the trip back was 
pleasant. They were both so tired that they 
gazed in silence out of their windows, only 
speaking now and then to exclaim : 

“ Was n’t it too lovely for words ? ” or “ Did 
you ever have so nice a time in your life ?” 

The remaining days of their visit passed 
rapidly, and the time for leaving came before 
they realized it was near. It was with regret 
that they left the sleepy old place, and with 
greater regret that they said good-by to Aunt 
Abby, but, nevertheless, they were not sorry 
to go back. Margy spent a few happy days 
with Louise, and then returned to Miss 
Healey’s to begin her second year at school. 


CHAPTER XI. 


SCHOOL AGAIN. 

S CHOOL life was now more delightful than 
ever to Margy. She felt herself on a differ- 
ent footing with both girls and teachers. 
The latter liked her for her excellent scholar- 
ship, while many of the former had come to 
know and like her for herself. She never 
needed to be lonely now. Edith Sandelin 
had not returned ; and when, after a month’s 
trial of studying at home, Louise Meredith 
came back to board, she showed plainly that 
she looked on Margy as her own particular 
friend, a fact that added greatly to the latter’s 
importance. There would not have been much 
time for loneliness in any case. Hard study 
was the order of the day. The final examina- 
tions for college were before them ; and 
although Louise was not going to compete 
for the scholarship, she was anxious to stand 
as high as those who did, while Margy had 
made up her mind that she must win it. After 

2c6 


SCHOOL AGAIN . 


207 


this taste of something better, she could not 
go back to the hopeless stagnation of her old 
life. With Louise out of the question, she 
would not have been very doubtful of her 
success, if it had not been for a new girl who 
threatened to be a dangerous rival. Her name 
was Ella Townsend, and she had come to Miss 
Healey’s school with the express intention of 
winning the scholarship. She had a fine, clear, 
accurate mind, — a mind whose contents were 
always available. No traces of bashfulness or 
self-consciousness ever prevented her from 
doing herself justice in the class-room. She 
had had the best of preparation, and it was 
rumored among the girls that her examinations 
for the preliminaries had been extraordinarily 
brilliant. Altogether, her high standing was 
a source of the keenest anxiety to Margy and 
to Louise on Margy’s account. 

Mrs. Meredith had invited Margy to spend 
Thanksgiving with them, much to her delight. 
As the time drew near, it seemed as if she could 
not wait. She was so tired of studying that 
from Wednesday to Monday without opening 
a book would have seemed something to look 
forward to in almost any circumstances, while 
under the present ones it was absolute bliss. 
The time came at last, however. 


208 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


“Oh, Margy, isn’t this too delicious for 
words!” exclaimed Louise on Wednesday 
evening as she stretched herself full length on 
the divan in the library. It was nine o’clock, 
and Mr. and Mrs. Meredith had just gone out. 
“ Is n’t it heavenly not to have any lessons to 
learn? I only wish Father and Mother did 
not have that whist party. They did n’t 
realize it was the night we were coming home, 
or they would n’t have accepted it. Father 
was much put out about it ; but I said we had 
four whole days more.” 

“ It is so good to see a fire again and to eat 
in a quiet dining-room,” Margy answered as 
she watched the blazing logs. “ I suppose we 
sha’n’t see Ted to-night.” 

“ No : he is dining at his club and going 
somewhere afterwards. Oh, there he is now ! 

\ Why, Ted, where did you drop from?” 

“ Hello, girls. It’s so long since I ’ve seen 
you that I thought I ’d cut my engagement 
and come home and spend the evening with 
you.” 

“We’re deeply honored,” said Louise. 

“ I knew it ! I might just as well say once 
for all and have it over with, that I ’m deeply 
ashamed of not having been to see you girls 
this year, and that I won’t let it happen again.” 


SCHOOL AGAIN. 


209 


“ Until the next time/’ Margy put in. 

“ It is n’t my fault really,” Ted went on. 
“ If you knew the difficulties I have in the way 
of making twenty-four hours hold thirty-six 
hours’ worth of things to do.” 

“ It ’s not your not coming that we care 
about,” said Louise. 

“ No :” Margy added, “ it ’s the not wanting 
to ; for you know one always finds time to do 
the things he really wants to.” 

“You do, at least,” said Louise. 

“ If you ’ll excuse me while I change my 
coat and take off these heavy shoes, I ’ll come 
back and take the rest of it,” said Ted, humbly. 
“Then, perhaps, when it is over with, we can 
have some fun.” 

“There won’t be any rest,” said Margy. 

“ Lie still, girls, and I ’ll move the divan 
over in front of the fire,” said Ted when he 
came back. “ There, how is that ? Now, I ’ll 
just put myself between you so, and we ’ll tell 
secrets for a while and forget about the late 
stringency in our relations; and then we’ll 
pop some corn and roast some chestnuts, and 
have a real innocent good time. I will fancy 
myself a boy once more.” 

“ ‘ And gold and love and Greek unknown to 
you ’ ? ” quoted Margy. 


210 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


“ I don’t know much about two of them as 
it is.” 

“ Which two?” asked Louise. 

“ Guess.” 

“ I should say you did n’t know much about 
any of them. You certainly don’t know much 
about money. I never knew any one who was in 
such a chronic state of broke as you. You 
have forgotten all the Greek you ever knew, 
as you have told me more than once. And 
as for the third, I don’t believe you know 
anything at all about that.” 

“ Do you flatter yourself that you would 
know it if I did ? ” 

“ I don’t suppose you would confide in me, 
but I am pretty sure I should know it all the 
same.” 

“ You seem to think highly of your own 
penetration. I suppose you know all about 
that interesting subject. By the way — this is 
not a propos of course — I dined with the Hol- 
listers to-night ; at least, they were of the 
party, and I sat next to Arthur and had quite 
a little talk with him.” 

“ Did he ask after me ?” inquired Louise. 

“ I regret to say that he did n’t. Their 
family are away and they are baching it, so I 
invited them to dinner Saturday night.” 


SCHOOL AGAIN \ 


211 

“ Oh ! ” exclaimed both the girls raptur- 
ously. 

“ I thought it would make you forget my 
sins of omission, but, unfortunately, I forgot 
to speak of it at the proper moment.” Louise 
gave a deep sigh. 

“What ’s the matter?” Ted asked. 

“I was thinking what a misfortune it is to 
be young and of no importance. Now I am 
sure that both Arthur and Tom will be married 
with half a dozen little Arties and Tommies 
of their own before I come out.” 

“ Yes : but there are just as good fish in the 
sea,” said Ted, consolingly. 

“ I suppose so, but it’s hard to believe it.” 

“ I should think their families would be 
tremendously proud of them,” said Margy. 

“ They are expensive luxuries, I fancy,” said 
Ted, “but thoroughly nice fellows all the 
same. But come, girls, tell me what you have 
been doing with yourselves all this time. 
How ’s the scholarship, Margy, and how ’s the 
new Phenom. ? ” 

“Oh, she’s all there, and I know she’ll get 
there, too. I ’m not in it, Ted.” 

“ Yes, she is too. Don’t you believe her,” 
Louise protested. “Margy is discouraged, or 
pretends she is, just because that Townsend 


212 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL . 


girl has a lightning calculator in her brain. If 
she can beat Margy at mathematics, Margy is 
way ahead of her in English and history, and 
perhaps Greek. No : I think they are about 
equal in that.” 

“ While Louise is better than either of us,” 
said Margy. 

“What is she like, the Phenom. ?” Ted 
asked. 

“Well, she’s from Chicago, and she talks 
baby-talk, and she asks me to loan her my 
history note-book. Oh, dear me, I know I 
am dreadfully uncharitable,” Louise broke off, 
“but I hate people that use words my friends 
don’t use. I suppose I don’t know anything 
about it, and that it is often a mere matter of 
locality, but people always seem inferior who 
say loan for lend and reckon and talk about 
things being dainty and use namby-pamby 
words like that.” 

“You could tell by her table manners that 
she was n’t very much,” said Margy. “ She 
talks with her mouth full and uses her fork 
in such a funny way. I wish Miss Healey 
had n’t put her at our table. I don’t see why 
she did it.” 

“ I think I can guess the reason,” said 
Louise. “ She knew you and she would be 


SCHOOL AGAIN . 


213 


rivals in the class-room, and she wanted you 
to be friends outside it if possible.” 

“ I suppose that is it,” said Margy. 

“ I think she is disappointed in her from 
something Mother said,” Louise went on. “ A 
friend of Miss Healey’s in Chicago gave her 
such a fine send-off that Miss Healey expected 
something unusual in the way of girl as well 
as student ; and I am sure those little idiosyn- 
crasies of hers annoy her as much as they do 
us.” 

“ Did you ever know any one so entirely 
without delicacy or respect for another’s per- 
sonality ? ” Margy asked. 

“ Why, what does she do?” inquired Ted. 

“Well, she came up to me the other day 
and asked if both my parents were living, and 
when I said- my father was dead, she wanted to 
know if my mother took boarders, or what she 
did for a living. I said we were capitalists and 
lived upon the interest of our investments, 
which is perfectly true.” 

“ I believe her mother keeps a mammoth 
boarding-house in Chicago,” said Louise. 
“ Would n’t you know Ella had been brought 
up in public? She is rather pretty, Ted, and 
oh, so clever, and I suppose the ‘ young gen- 
tlemen ’ at her mother’s house have taken a 


214 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


great deal of notice of her. It amuses me to 
hear her say that she can hardly wait until 
vacation to go home and get something to eat, 
and everything is so very nice at Miss Healey’s.” 

“ I wish that friend of Miss Healey’s had 
stayed where she belonged,” said Margy, im- 
patiently. “I don’t believe Ella would have 
ever heard of the scholarship if it had n’t been 
for her. I wish you were going to compete, 
Louise. I had rather you had it than she did. 
No, I don’t, either. I won’t be so mean, for 
she needs it and you don’t. There is one 
thing I am determined on, anyway. I am not 
going to have any unkind feelings about it. 
If she wins it, and I am sure she will, it will be 
because she is a better scholar than I, and 
those personal qualities of hers that I don’t 
like have nothing whatever to do with it.” 

“ Good for you, Margy ! ” exclaimed Ted. 

“ I don’t think we ought to blame her for 
being suspicious and always expecting the 
worst of people,” she went on, “for I am sure 
she has had a very hard life.” 

“Yes, and not one to cultivate delicacy,” 
Louise assented. “ But I do wish her rs 
were not quite so prominent, but that ’s the 
middle West in her, I suppose. She says ever-r 
and never-r, Ted.” 


SCHOOL AGAIN. 


215 


“I know lots of excellent people who do 
that, all Chicago, for example, but I can’t say 
I like it. Let ’s have our party now. The 
coals are just right.” 

The next four days were as crammed full of 
pleasure as they could hold. The weather was 
unseasonably warm and sunshiny. Ted took 
them to the football game on Thanksgiving 
Day, although he had to refuse invitations to 
join several coaching parties to do it. The 
girls decked themselves in all the red they 
could get on by way of showing that their 
sympathies were not with Yale. Louise had 
a hat trimmed with red, and Mrs. Meredith 
lent Margy a red cloth carriage cape bordered 
with black astrakan, while Ted gave them 
huge bunches of red carnations. Not even the 
fact that Yale beat Princeton could spoil their 
enjoyment of the crowds, the handsome turn- 
outs, and beautifully dressed women. They 
had a quiet dinner and evening with Mr. and 
Mrs. Meredith and some of their relatives. 
Very imposing people they seemed to Margy, 
though they were kind and cordial to her. 

Friday morning they went shopping with 
Mrs. Meredith, and had luncheon at Delmon- 
ico’s. Then they went for a drive, and after 
they got home, Miss Harper came to see 


21 6 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


them, — to make her party call, she explained. 
Mrs. Meredith invited her to dinner the next 
night, much to the girls’ delight. In the even- 
ing, Mr. and Mrs. Meredith took them to the 
theatre. Saturday they took luncheon with a 
young married cousin of Louise’s, who had 
some dear little children and a fascinating baby ; 
and Saturday evening was the dinner. Louise 
confided to Margy in the morning that she was 
sure they would n’t come after all, she knew 
something would happen to prevent it. They 
did, however, and Mr. Harry Crosby, Louise’s 
musical cousin, and Miss Mary Atherton, 
whom Ted had asked his aunt to invite, and 
who accepted in spite of a previous engage- 
ment. There was never such a dinner party, 
thought Margy. To begin with, it was her 
very first one, and then there never were so 
many adorable people gathered together 
around one table. Something that had hap- 
pened that morning put the finishing touches 
to her pleasure. 

She and Louise were playing a duet in the 
drawing-room, and laughing over the wretched 
work they made of it, when Caroline, Mrs. 
Meredith’s maid, came to tell them that her 
mistress wished to see them in her room. 

“Come here, girls,” she said as they came 


SCHOOL AGAIN. 


217 


in, and led them over to her bed on which 
were lying two lovely white mull gowns 
trimmed with exquisite Valenciennes lace. 

“ The pure white is for Margy, and the 
white with blue for Louise,” she explained, 
and then added : “ I want my girls to do 

credit to me to-night.” 

“ Oh, Mother ! ” exclaimed Louise. Margy 
sighed and turned away. 

“ I must n’t look at it,” she said. “ It is too 
kind of you for anything, Mrs. Meredith, but 
I can’t take it. I am sure my mother would n’t 
like me to. She thinks you ought to go with- 
out things if you can’t afford them yourself ; 
and that giving when the giving is all on one 
side spoils a friendship, and I am afraid I do 
too.” 

“Yes, but there are exceptions to every 
rule,” and Mrs. Meredith handed Margy an 
open letter which she held in her hand. It 
was from Mrs. Brooks, evidently in answer to 
one from Mrs. Meredith, and said that she 
could not bring herself to refuse her kindness 
after the gracious manner in which it was 
offered, especially as she knew what a great 
pleasure it would be to Margy. Margy sat 
down on the side of the bed and began to 
cry. 




2 1 8 AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 

“ Stop it, you chump ! ” exclaimed Louise. 
“ Here, come and try on the gown.” 

“ Not till I have tried to thank your 
mother,” said Margy. “ I don’t know what 
to say, Mrs. Meredith. It is too much. I 
never had such a gown.” 

“ I am glad you like it. Caroline can alter 
it if it does not fit you. I sent her to the 
school one day and she measured one of your 
gowns while you were at a class, and took the 
measures to Badger.” 

“ I did so hate to wear my old white silk 
to-night,” said Margy. 

The consciousness of being so well dressed 
was, therefore, another delight to Margy. 
Then, Ted told her that her looks as well as 
her morals were getting to be a credit to him ; 
and Mr. Meredith said she looked like Ted’s 
mother, and that she ought to have been the 
one to be named Louise. Mrs. Meredith de- 
clared that it was not to be a regular dinner 
party, as Margy and Louise were not out, so 
Dolly Harper said that they would pretend 
that they had none of them been invited, and 
had just dropped in by accident. 

“ What, all of you!” exclaimed Ted. “I 
must say I think that is very inconsiderate. 
H ow did you know that we would have dinner 


SCHOOL AGAIN. 


219 


enough, or that it was n’t wash-day, or that we 
were n’t having another dinner party, or the 
baby was n’t getting a tooth ? ” 

“ Wash-day on Saturday !” Dolly exclaimed 
contemptuously. 

“ Cousin Madeline always has dinner 
enough,” said Harry Crosby, “and Louise, 
who is the baby of the family, though I admit 
Ted seems more like one, appears to have cut 
all her teeth.” 

“We’d persuade the other dinner party 
that it was a week from to-night they were 
invited for,” said Tom Hollister. 

After this Ted took it on himself to apolo- 
gize profusely for everything on the ground 
that they had n’t been expected, and kept ask- 
ing Miss Harper if she was sure she was 
making out a dinner, and offering to go and 
hunt up a piece of cold mutton for her. 

“We ’d have had water for you if we ’d 
known you were coming,” he remarked gravely 
as the glasses were being filled with claret. 

Margy did not know what half the dishes 
were or how she was expected to partake of 
them ; but not being the guest of honor, she 
had a chance to watch and see, and so did not 
make any bad breaks. Louise and she had 
decorated the table themselves with pink and 


220 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


white tiger lilies, and had reason to be proud 
of their success. 

After dinner they all went into the drawing- 
room together by way of making it informal, 
and then Mr. Crosby played for them, and 
then they all got singing, and after that they 
pushed back the rugs and had a little dance 
on the polished floor. 

“Do you know how to dance, Margy?” 
asked Ted. 

“Yes, do you?” she answered, in apparent 
innocence. Ted laughed. 

“Come along, then,” he said. “Well, I 
think you’ll do,” he added when they stopped. 
“You occasionally show an inclination to run 
things, but you ’ll do.” 

“ That comes from dancing with the girls at 
school,” said Margy, and then Tom Hollister 
came up and asked her, and she had another 
delightful dance. 

The girls felt anything but sleepy after their 
guests went, so Margy went into Louise’s room 
and got into bed with her to talk it over. 

“ Do you know, I think it was lots nicer 
than that time last spring, and yet I thought 
nothing could be nicer than that,” Margy be- 
gan. “You see, I felt so much less shy and 
more at home with them to-night.” 


SCHOOL AGAIN . 


221 


“ And it was nice having some real grown- 
up young ladies,” said Louise. “ It was n’t so 
nice as up at Aunt Abby’s, though, Margy ; 
for they did n’t stay all night, nor come into 
the kitchen and help wipe dishes. I really 
think, the more informal things are, the pleas- 
anter they are, and that is why anything is sure 
to go off well where Ted is, because he hates 
stiffness so. Do you know, Margy, I believe 
he could make even Miss Taylor free and easy.” 

“ Let ’s have him meet her some time and 
try,” suggested Margy, and both girls laughed 
at the idea. 

“All the same, I am worried about Ted,” 
Louise went on. “ He was going to work so 
hard at his profession, and now he does n’t 
seem to be doing anything but amuse himself. 
I know it is hard for him to keep out of things, 
he is so run after just for this very quality of 
making things go. I spoke to Father about 
it the last time I was home, but he told me not 
to worry, that Ted had a good level head of 
his own and would get tired of this sort of 
thing soon, that he was young yet and there 
was plenty of time foi* him to buckle down to 
work. I don’t like it though. Ted has always 
had a frivolous side and a sensible side, and 
they were pretty nearly balanced ; and now 


222 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


the sensible side has rolled away around out 
of sight and you can’t find it if you want to. 
He won’t be serious ever.” 

“ It is n’t as if he went in for anything bad,” 
said Margy, consolingly. “ At least, I don’t 
suppose he does.” 

“No, he doesn’t, for I asked Father. It is 
just fun and carrying on generally. He is in- 
juring his health, though, with smoking and 
burning the candle at both ends. I am so 
thankful he does n’t care anything about 
drinking.” 

“ I noticed that he hardly touched his wine 
to-night,” said Margy. “ He says it is no credit 
to him that he never takes too much.” 

“ The worst I know about him,” Louise 
went on, “ is that he likes fast girls like Vir- 
ginia Hope-Woods. I told you he and she 
were on again. Mother says that the night 
of the Van Horn ball he and his Ginny spent 
the whole evening together in the conser- 
vatory and never went near another soul. 
I hoped at one time that he’d take a fancy to 
Dolly Harper, but they don’t seem to be very 
good friends lately. He says she’s much too 
good, and she is n’t a bit. She ’s the jolliest, 
most human girl I know. Still, she has a lot 
of serious to her, and I fancy she has been 


SCHOOL AGAIN. 


223 


showing Ted she does n’t approve of his ways ; 
and that is just enough to make him act more 
nonsensically than ever. I know she’d find 
out his real self in time, only there won’t be 
time, she is so run after on account of being 
the only child, not to speak of her own sweet 
self.” 

“ Do you think there is anything serious 
between him and his Ginny?” Margy asked. 

“Goodness knows, for I don’t. You see I 
am in no position to judge. I did n’t even 
know they were on again. How he can prefer 
her to Dolly, I can’t conceive. But I don’t 
suppose Dolly would look at him, so perhaps 
it is just as well that he does n’t care for her. 
You see he is only a year older than she is, 
and, besides, her family would n’t want her to 
marry a poor man, and Ted will never be any- 
thing else unless he works more and plays 
less.” 

“ I don’t see how she could help caring for 
him, all the same,” said Margy, reflectively. 

“Nor I,” answered Louise. “But come, 
Margy, let’s talk of something pleasanter, and 
then it ’s time we went to sleep. Was n’t Ar- 
thur dear to-night ? ” 

u No dearer than Tom.” 

“Oh dear,” sighed Louise, “I wish I really 


224 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


knew which I liked best. I pretend I like 
Arthur best, but I don’t really like him a bit 
better than Tom.” 

“ Isn’t it funny ? ” laughed Margy. “ I feel 
just the same way, only I know Tom a little 
the best.” 



o 


o 



o 


o 


o 

CHAPTER XII. 


ONE SUNDAY NIGHT. 


O 


M ARGY’S Christmas vacation was very 
quiet. Her mother was not well and 
Louise had a bad cold, so they stayed 
at home and sewed most of the time. She had 
never got along so well with either of them, so 
although she was glad to go back, she was really 
a little sorry to leave when the time came. 
After Christmas came a heavy stretch of good 
hard work, varied by an occasional Saturday 
afternoon drive or sleigh-ride with Mrs. Mere- 
dith and Louise. Nearly all the rest of the 
time was hard digging. Fortunately, both 
Margy and Louise had splendid health, but 
some of the other girls who were preparing for 
college seemed to feel the strain. The Phenom., 
as the girls called Miss Townsend, was unflag- 
ging. Her scholarship improved, if anything. 
She and our two girls carried all before them. 
The other girls were nowhere, although there 


226 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


were four others who were going to compete 
for the scholarship. Margy tried hard not to 
carry the rivalry out of the class-room, but the 
Phenom. was of a suspicious temperament ; 
and, as Margy said to Louise : 

“ I believe she thinks I am polite and friendly 
to her because I hope to get her to help me 
with my problems some day. She acts as if 
she did.” Her mood varied from bright hope- 
fulness to utter despondency, although Louise 
never professed to feel the slightest doubt of 
her ultimate success. 

“ She is very accurate and careful, but she 
does n’t take large views of things. You go 
into things so much deeper than she does. 
It is history and English that are going to 
stump her. She can tell you facts, any amount 
of them. If you asked her the dates of the 
Kings of England, she could tell you every 
one, but she could n’t tell you what the effect 
of a certain policy was on the people, or any- 
thing of that sort. If Miss Humphreys had 
happened to give her her views, she would be 
all right ; otherwise, she ’d have to give it up. 
Then she can’t write to save her soul, anymore 
than I can ; and even if our papers were just 
as good, yours would seem better because it 
would be expressed so much better.” 


ONE SUNDA Y NIGHT. 


227 


One snowy Sunday night in January, Miss 
Humphreys had invited Louise and Margy, 
Gertrude Mayne, and Sally Garnis to have tea 
in her room. This was a special pleasure to 
Margy, for she and Miss Humphreys were bet- 
ter friends than ever. Her room was in the top 
of the house, with an expansive view of roof 
and sky. It would have been dark when our 
two girls arrived if it had not been for the 
whiteness of the snow outside. 

“ Is n’t this cosy ! ” exclaimed Margy, kneel- 
ing on the window-seat and watching the softly 
falling snowflakes. 

“We need a fire for that,” said Miss Hum- 
phreys. 

“You are as good as a fire yourself,” Louise 
said impulsively. 

“ Because she always brings light into dark 
places,” Margy added. 

“ Only a little glimmer,” Miss Humphreys 
protested. 

“ Enough to find where the matches are, 
though,” said Margy, laughing. Miss Hum- 
phreys and Louise laughed too. 

“ Well, that is what I am most anxious to 
do,” said the former. “ I don’t mind confes- 
sing to you, girls, that I took it very hard when 
I first found I should have to earn my own 


228 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


living. I wanted an independent life of my 
own, to be free to come and go as I chose, to 
have a home of my own, perhaps ; but I have 
found a great compensation in this very thing, 
in being able to point out the match-box, as 
Margy says, to those who are less familiar with 
the place than I am. I never agree with the 
people who think we have got to learn every- 
thing for ourselves by experience. I think 
another person’s is often of the greatest help. 
I only wish I had had any one to give me a 
hint or two.” 

“ Some one whose opinion you respected,” 
suggested Margy. 

“Yes, of course. 1 will give you an instance 
of what I mean. It used to make me very un- 
happy when I was a young girl that I was not 
more popular, that people never seemed to 
care to talk to me much. I used to puzzle 
over the reasons, but it was a long time before 
I discovered that the chief reason was because 
I talked eternally about myself. Now if some- 
one, whose opinion I had respected, Margy, 
had told me that, I am sure I should have 
cured myself of it much sooner ; but nobody 
wants to do that sort of thing.” 

“ I can’t imagine your being egotistical,” said 
Louise. 


ONE SUN DA Y NIGHT. 


229 


“ Well, I was. If any one mentioned a feel- 
ing or an experience, I could hardly wait until 
they got through to tell of a similar or a con- 
trary one. Nobody could mention a cold, for 
instance, without hearing a full account of all 
the colds I ever had. I then told anecdotes 
about the colds of my aunts and cousins. In 
fact, I was a perfect bore. It never occurred 
to me that it was a duty not to talk of things 
that are uninteresting to other people. Oh, dear 
me, girls, I had such a stormy, troublesome, 
uncomfortable girlhood that I feel very sorry 
for you young things who have to go through 
some of the same experiences, and would do 
anything to save you one of them.” 

“ Then that is why you have been so kind 
to me,” said Margy. 

“The Sturm und Drang period has been 
long and severe with you, Margy, but I think 
you are almost over it.” 

“ Not until I am nicer at home,” Margy con- 
fessed frankly. “ Now Louise never had any.” 

“ It was not concentrated into one time, 
perhaps, but scattered all along,” said Louise. 
“ Dear me, I have so many faults.” 

“ Not very many,” said Margy, affectionately. 

“ Yes I have, too. I was thinking about 
some of them in church this morning during 


230 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


the sermon. I forget what the text was, but 
the idea was to search your inmost soul, and 
I tried to do a little searching on my own 
account.” 

“What did you discover?” Miss Hum- 
phreys asked, smiling. 

“ That I am altogether too snobbish for one 
thing. I do so hate stupid, unimportant peo- 
ple, and people who are not good form ; and 
I made a resolution that I would n’t be so 
haughty to the Phenom.” 

“ She certainly isn’t stupid,” said Miss 
Humphreys. 

“ No, but she talks baby-talk,” Louise an- 
swered. 

“ Does n’t that just characterize her !” ex- 
claimed Margy. “ Could you ever really like 
a person who talked baby-talk ? Oh, dear me ! 
I suppose it is n’t a bit worse than being 
affected.” 

“You are not at all affected any more, but 
just as natural,” said Louise. 

“ And probably the Phenom. would n’t talk 
baby-talk if she had any one to tell her how 
silly it is. Won’t you show her the matches, 
Miss Humphreys ? ” 

“ I should have to get to know her better 
first. She would look on it as an impertinence 


ONE SUNDA Y NIGHT. 


231 

now. I will cultivate her if you want me to, 
though.” 

“ I wish you would,” said Louise. “It is a 
shame that so clever a girl as she should make 
such a fool of herself.” Miss Humphreys 
smiled as she said : 

“ Well, Louise, suppose you go to her room 
and ask her to come and have supper with us 
at .half-past six.” 

“ Oh ! ” exclaimed both the girls in great 
dismay. Miss Humphreys laughed again. 

“ Oh, dear, we don’t want her,” said Margy. 

“ It will just spoil everything,” said Louise. 

“Very well,” said Miss Humphreys. “We 
will put off our projects of reform.” Louise 
got up slowly from her seat in front of the 
window. 

“ I suppose I Ve got to,” she said, as she 
left the room. 

“We had better begin to get supper ready, 
Margy,” said Miss Humphreys, as she lit the 
light. Margy sighed. 

“ I suppose so,” she said wearily. 

When Louise came back, she found the little 
table set, and the kettle almost boiling on the 
alcohol lamp. Margy was mixing the salad, 
and Miss Humphreys cutting the brown bread. 

“ How long you were ! ” exclaimed Margy. 


232 AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 

“ Well, you see, the Phenom. was evidently 
very lonely, and she would not let me go after 
she discovered I was in an unusually affable and 
approachable frame of mind. She was horridly 
familiar and friendly ; but you need n’t be afraid, 
Miss Humphreys. I am going to be nice to 
her to-night if she does call me ‘ Lou ’ and take 
hold of my arm when she wants to attract my 
attention. She will be here in a few minutes. 
She stopped to curl that remarkable bang of 
hers.” 

“ Poor Louise does hate to be touched so,” 
said Margy, “ and the Phenom. is always grab- 
bing hold of her.” Just then a knock was 
heard at the door, and Gertrude Mayne and 
Sally Garnis came in. They were somewhat 
dismayed when they heard the Phenom. was 
coming, for she was not a general favorite. 

“ Miss Humphreys made me ask her,” ex- 
plained Louise. 

“ My dear Louise, it was your own con- 
science.” 

“ Well, it was your fault for suggesting it. 
It would never have occurred to my conscience 
if you had n’t.” 

“We ’ve got to have another cup and a 
fork,” said Margy. “ I ’ll go down and get 
one of Louise’s.” She met the Phenom. in 


ONE SUNN A Y NIGHT. 


233 


the hall on her way back and came in with her. 
The latter was evidently on her best behavior ; 
for although she felt herself the equal of any- 
body, judging by her manner, she was a little 
subdued at the idea of being invited to supper 
by these proud and haughty girls who usually 
repelled all her advances. She was especially 
in awe of Louise. 

They had tea and salad and cold ham and 
Saratoga potatoes and brown bread and butter 
and little frosted spice cakes for supper. The 
Phenom. continued to be subdued, and they 
had as jolly a time as if she had not been there. 
After they had eaten all that even hungry 
school-girls could eat, a maid came and took 
the remains away on a tray, and they all 
gathered around Miss Humphreys for a talk. 

“You have never kept your promise, Miss 
Humphreys, of telling us how you happened 
to go to college,” suggested Sally Garnis. 

“ I don’t want to to-night, Sally. It makes 
me think of too many sad things. I would 
rather tell you some time in the daytime. If 
you like, I will tell you about something that 
happened when I was there instead. I was 
thinking of it this afternoon. It ’s very sad 
too, but then it is n’t personal.” 

“Oh, do!” cried all the girls. So Miss 


234 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


Humphreys told them a sad little story about 
a poor girl from the country who wanted an 
education above anything on earth ; and of the 
expedients she resorted to and the privations 
she underwent to get the money and the neces- 
sary preparation. Her poor old mother helped 
her in every way she could ; and just when she 
was within a month of graduation, the girl fell 
ill and died. 

“ Oh, dear,” said Sally, “do you think it was 
worth it, Miss Humphreys?” 

“ Not as it turned out, but, of course, they 
could n’t foresee that. I know, though, that 
if any one were to offer me a large sum of 
money in exchange for my college education, 
I ’d take the education every time.” 

“ Even if it were enough to give you more 
income than you can earn with your educa- 
tion ?” 

“Yes, indeed. The money I can earn, 
though very essential, is the smallest part of 
its value to me.” 

“Why, Miss Humphreys,” exclaimed the 
Phenom., “ I thought that was what most girls 
went to college for ! ” 

“ It ’s not what I am going for,” said Louise. 

“ Nor I,” said Gertrude Mayne. 

“What are you going for, Margy?” asked 
the Phenom. 


ONE SUN DA V NIGHT. 


*35 


“If I go, you mean,” Margy answered, 
laughing. “Well, partly for that, as I shall 
probably have to earn my own living, but 
chiefly because they thought it would make a 
more useful and attractive specimen out of me.” 
The girls all laughed. 

“That’s funny !” exclaimed Sally. “That 
is just the reason my family won’t let me go 
to college. I confess I have sort of wanted 
to, since Gertrude and Margy and Louise are 
all going. I am not very brilliant, as I don’t 
need to tell you, but I think I could have 
scraped in if Mamma and Papa would even let 
me have a try at it. Such a fuss as they all 
made when I even suggested it. It would n’t 
sound very polite to you, girls, or I ’d give you 
a few of their reasons.” 

“ We can guess what they are,” said Louise. 

“ I wish Miss Humphreys would talk to 
your mother a little,” Margy suggested. 

“ I am afraid it would n’t do any good : she 
does n’t like new ideas very well.” 

“ But Miss Humphreys has n’t told us why 
she would n’t give up her college education,” 
remarked Gertrude Mayne. 

“ Well, there are any number of reasons,” 
Miss Humphreys began. “ Besides, college 
does some things for some girls and some for 
others. Do you want to hear a few, Ella ? ” 


236 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


“All right,” said the Phenom., familiarly. 

“Dear me, where shall I begin? Well, 
there is one thing I learned at college that is 
of more value to me than anything I ever 
learned anywhere, and that is not to let the 
outward circumstances of my life make my 
happiness or unhappiness. Of course, if one 
is under the shadow of a great affliction, in the 
midst of some active sorrow, she cannot be 
happy ; but she can learn to be in spite of 
small annoyances and deprivations. I have 
learned to weigh everything with the question, 
‘ Is this worth making myself uncomfortable 
over?’ and nowadays it is very seldom that I 
find myself answering ‘ Yes.’ One learns to 
rise superior to discomforts, from the imperti- 
nence of a servant to the prospective loss of 
half your income ; and the reason this is so is 
that training our minds makes us able to see 
things, our troubles especially, more in per- 
spective. No matter what we are when we 
enter, three fourths of us graduate as logical, 
reasonable human beings. Our larger knowl- 
edge also helps us to take wider views, and, 
consequently, to be more philosophical. An- 
other thing college does for us is to develop 
our resources by showing us in what directions 
our tastes really lie. I have a friend who is 


ONE SUN DA Y NIGHT. 


237 


making a name for herself among astronomers, 
and before she went to college, she did not 
know one star from another. It has given her 
a career and a certain importance. Of course, 
the mere knowing more is a great advantage, 
but it isn’t anywhere near so great as the effect 
the acquiring of this has on our minds. But I 
suppose you are thinking these are very tame 
and stupid reasons. I am talking over your 
heads. You can never learn to be philosophi- 
cal from another’s experience, Margy. It has 
got to come from within. You hear this sort 
of thing preached a thousand times without 
taking it in or caring about it, and then, all at 
once, it appeals to you, and you begin to think 
and wonder that you have let so large a part 
of your life be spoiled by trifles. I never get 
angry nowadays with any one, no matter what 
they do or leave undone, simply because it is 
such an uncomfortable sensation to myself. I 
would rather overlook even real wrongs than 
let myself be made unhappy over them. But, 
as I said, I do not expect you to understand 
this at all. It is like talking about a physical 
pain to a person who has never been ill. There 
are some things you can never take in until 
you have had a certain amount of experience. 
I want to say again, however, that I consider 


238 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


the greatest benefit of a college training to be 
the self-discipline that it teaches you.” 

“You say these are uninteresting reasons, 
Miss Humphreys, and although I don’t think 
so, won’t you give us some you call interest- 
ing ? ” asked Louise. 

“ Well, the most interesting one to me is the 
feeling it gives you of a full mental life. You 
feel as if you had so much more to you, so 
much more depth and breadth. Then you 
have more power over your fellow-creatures 
because you understand them better ; and, after 
all, is n’t that what we all want most ? That 
is why we value beauty and personal charm and 
all that sort of thing. Here is something that 
you girls will like to hear. I was n’t especially 
young or immature before I went, and yet I 
found I could interest men in me so much more 
afterwards — when I cared to do it. I know 
there are objections abroad to the effect that 
college hurts a girl’s social career, but that is a 
fallacy. I admit that it sometimes makes her 
care less for social triumphs, because she has 
so much more in her life to care about. She 
does n’t have to concentrate her whole being 
on pleasing, because an unmarried life does 
not seem so empty to her. Other things being 
equal — that is the point — other things being 


ONE SUNDA Y NIGHT. 


239 


equal, I would back the college girl every time. 
Of course this mistake, a perfectly natural one, 
has been due to the kind of girl that went to 
college. Studious, serious girls, unfitted for 
society under any circumstances, would natu- 
rally be the ones to go first. I am not afraid 
that nature will be perverted by a little learn- 
ing, a few sensible ideas. I am sure college 
training could not, if it wanted to, uproot the 
desire of every normal woman to have a home 
and children of her own ; and while she has 
this, her social instinct will not be educated 
out of her. She will not be so ready to take 
the wrong man, however, if the right one does 
not come along. I myself constantly have a 
keen realization of the intense interest of life 
and its personal relations. I am going to 
make a prophecy, girls, and that is that by the 
time you have grown up daughters of your 
own, it will be as much of a disadvantage for 
women not to have been to college as it is 
now for men. The girls with the best home 
associations, the greatest advantages, will all 
be going by that time, and people will laugh 
at the objections that are now brought forward 
and refuse to believe that they were ever 
meant seriously/’ 

“ College men are certainly loads nicer than 


240 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


men who have n’t been,” said Sally, reflec- 
tively. 

“ And are women made of different clay that 
it should n’t do as much for them ? I know it 
always prejudices me in favor of a man when 
I hear he has been to Yale or Harvard, and 1 
don’t want to know him if he has n’t been to 
any,” said Gertrude. 

“ That is altogether too sweeping,” said 
Miss Humphreys. “ Some of the most at- 
tractive men I have ever known have never 
been to college. Generally speaking, though, 
you are right ; and there is going to be just 
the same difference between the girls of the 
future. I have n’t begun to give you half the 
reasons why I think girls are better and hap- 
pier for systematically trained intelligences, but 
we have had enough for one evening. Sup- 
pose Sally gets her guitar and we have a little 
sing.’ 

Sally had a very sweet voice, and all the 
other girls, except Margy, could sing more or 
less, so the rest of the evening passed pleas- 
antly in music. They were all surprised when 
the bell rang for going to bed. Margy and 
Louise stayed a few minutes after the others. 

“We have had a lovely evening, Miss Hum- 
phreys,” said Louise, 


ONE SUNDA V NIGHT. 


241 


“ And the Phenom. did n’t spoil it a bit,” 
Margy added. 

“No,” Louise went on, “she did n’t talk 
baby-talk, and she did n’t call me ‘ Lou.’ She 
was very subdued. I am glad we asked her. 
If we could only make her believe that we 
don’t hate her because we want the scholarship 
for Margy, it would be a great gain. She 
can’t understand that it is herself as herself 
and not as Margy ’s rival that we don’t like.” 

“ That reminds me that I did n’t give one 
of my principal reasons for sending girls to 
college, and one that I should have particu- 
larly liked you girls to hear,” Miss Humphreys 
continued. 

“ What is that ?” Margy asked. 

“ The wonderful effect that drilling the mind 
has on the small meannesses and jealousies 
that have always been considered a necessary 
part of being a woman. The college girls I 
have known have been comparatively free from 
that sort of thing, and able to distinguish be- 
tween questions of persons and questions of 
fact. They are generally above small manoeu- 
vering and underhand ways of doing things, 
too. But perhaps it was just as well. They 
had enough lecturing for one night. You 
don’t want to wear your audience out. Good- 
night, girls,” 


CHAPTER XIII. 


A REAL TROUBLE. 

O NE Sunday night, a month later, Louise 
came into Margy’s room. She had 
been at home all day and had only 
just got back so as to be ready to go to work 
early the next morning. 

“ Well, Margy,” she exclaimed excitedly, 
“ I ’ve done it ! ” 

“ Done what ? ” Margy asked. 

“ I ’ve had it out with Ted, told him what I 
think of him, and we would n’t be on speaking 
terms if we were ever that silly. He does n’t 
love me very well at the present moment, how- 
ever.” 

“ Tell me about it,” said Margy, eagerly. 
“Just wait till I get off these furs. It ’s 
perfectly freezing out. I ’ll have to hurry if 
I ’m to finish before the bell rings. Do put 
‘ Engaged ’ on your door, Margy.” Margy 
obediently took down a large piece of card- 

242 


A REAL TROUBLE. 


243 


board on which “ Engaged ” was printed in big 
letters, and which was hanging on the inside 
of her door, and pinned it on the outside. 
The half hour before getting ready for bed 
was the general visiting time for the whole 
school. 

“There,” she said, closing the door, “we 
sha’n’t be interrupted. Fire ahead, Louise.” 

“You know I would n’t tell you much about 
Ted’s and Miss Hope- Woods’ goings-on at the 
Kings’ that Sunday after the examinations.” 

“You were n’t very communicative.” 

“ Well, it was because something happened 
that I did n’t feel I had a right to speak about. 
I accidentally saw a little scene between them, 
the silliest of little scenes, and Ted knew I saw 
it. Well, Harry Crosby and Mr. Belden 
dropped in to luncheon to-day ; and I hap- 
pened to be in an unusually expansive and 
agreeable mood, and Ted did n’t. Conse- 
quently, I put myself forward more than my 
modesty usually permits, and he grew more and 
more glum. I could see that they did n’t know 
what to make of it. Ted is so seldom out of 
sorts. Well, after they went, he did n’t go out as 
usual, but sat in a corner of the billiard-room 
and pretended to read the paper. Mother and 
Father went to see one of my uncles who is ill, 


244 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


and as I did n’t feel like amusing myself, I 
strolled into the billiard-room, hoping to get 
Ted into a more amiable frame of mind. I 
made some harmless little remark about Mr. 
Belden by way of a beginning, and he broke 
into a perfect tirade against school-girls who 
put themselves forward and thought they were 
grown up because they did up their hair and 
wore long gowns. I said that I thought a girl 
had a right to talk to a man at her own father’s 
table, even if she were not out, and added that 
Harry was my cousin. He replied that Mr. 
Belden was n’t, and that he should think I 
would know better than to be so familiar with 
a man of his character. I was n’t a bit, really, 
Margy, only a little friendly. I did n’t make 
him any the less angry by reminding him that 
he himself had brought him to the house first, 
and that he had said only a few weeks before 
that there was n’t any real harm in him, that he 
was only a little extravagant and fond of a good 
time. He then made some horrid remarks 
about girls who set themselves up as so much 
better than other girls and then did n’t behave 
themselves any too well. I had been getting 
angry all along, and this naturally made me 
perfectly furious. It was the last drop. I told 
him that I did n’t think a man had any right 


A REAL TROUBLE. 


2 45 


to criticise girls’ behavior when he encouraged 
them in being fast and in misbehaving them- 
selves in every way, and I made some allusion 
to what I had seen at the Kings’. Then we 
went at it hot and heavy, and I told him very 
openly what I thought of his Ginny and his 
carrying on so with her. Finally, I got so 
angry that I knew I should cry if I stayed 
another minute, and I would n’t have done 
that for worlds, so I left the room. I told him 
among other home truths that I thought it ex- 
tremely flat his preaching at you and trying to 
reform you, and then behaving as he did himself, 
and wasting his time as he was doing. I also 
told him something that I had heard Dolly 
Harper had said about him, and that made him 
furious, for it was perfectly true and very 
cleverly put. I heard it in a funny, roundabout 
way when I was up at the Kings’. Well, we 
were very polite at dinner, and he went out im- 
mediately afterwards. I never remember see- 
ing him in such a condition of mind and temper 
before. He was even cross to Mother, and 
almost told Father that something was none of 
his business, and hinted at taking up his quar- 
ters at the club if he could n’t be let alone.” 

“ I suppose something is wrong between him 
and his Ginny,” said Margy. 


246 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


“ I suppose so, but I don’t see why his inno- 
cent family should suffer for it. You would n’t 
have loved your cousin Ted to-night, Margy. 
I have seen him something like this once or 
twice before in the course of my life, but never 
so bad as this. Of course, I knew what was 
the matter with me. He was angry at my see- 
ing what I did, and at my criticising him and 
her and showing what I thought of them, for 
I made no effort to hide my opinion. I really 
behaved myself perfectly well at luncheon. It 
was only that he was in a very irritable frame 
of mind. I have been ten times as lively before 
and he has liked it. Oh, dear ! Our relations 
have been strained for some time, but I sup- 
pose it will be worse than ever now.” 

“ I should think you would hate to be out 
with Ted,” said Margy. “ What does your 
mother say ? ” 

“ I had a talk with both her and Father be- 
fore I came away to-night ; and they said not 
to worry. There is no danger of Miss Hope- 
Wood’s marrying him, as he has n’t money 
enough, and that this sort of thing could n’t 
continue indefinitely. There would be a crisis 
of some sort. Father said that young men 
often got under the influence of such women, 
and that he was glad it was no worse, that it 


A REAL TROUBLE. 247 

was a respectable woman ; for nobody ever 
says anything against her character, you know. 
I fancy she knows where to draw the line.” 

“ Oh, dear,” sighed Margy, “how one hates 
to see one’s idols fall off their pedestals.” 

“ Mother and Father were n’t a bit angry at 
Ted for speaking as he did to them,” Louise 
went on. “ Mother said she knew he must be 
very unhappy to make him do it ; for he is so 
kind-hearted and hates to hurt any one’s feel- 
ings so. He has always had the most affec- 
tionate nature. Oh, dear ! I can’t be angry 
at him either ! ” 

“ I only wish there was something we could do 
for him,” said Margy. “ He is always so kind 
and sympathetic when one is ill or in trouble. 
I don’t know any one I would sooner go to.” 

“ Nor I,” Louise answered. “ I used to cry 
to go to him when I was a baby, and I have 
felt like it sometimes since. It has made me 
very unhappy this last year, Margy, to have 
him take so little notice of me. I have seemed 
to be of so little consequence to him, and he 
used to take so much interest in everything I 
thought or did. Why, when he was abroad 
and in college, he used to write me the longest, 
most interesting letters, no matter how much 
fun he had on hand ; and you know I write 


2 4 s AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 

such stupid letters that there is no pleasure in 
corresponding with me.” 

“Well, I am going to hope for the best,” 
said Margy. “ Do you realize, Louise, that 
the bell rang fully ten minutes ago ?” 

“No? Did it? I ’ll have to tear. Good- 
night, Margy. I feel lots better for telling 
you about it.” After she had opened the door, 
she turned and asked : “ What have you been 
doing with yourself all day ? ” 

“I was in Miss Humphrey’s room most of 
the afternoon, and her friend Miss McArthur 
is fine. I liked her so much and she is so 
pretty and well dressed. Gertrude and Sally 
and Mabel and Ethel and several of the other 
girls came in to meet her, and we had the jolliest 
time. She told us all about the good times they 
have at college, and the plays they act, and about 
the President and the Professors, and the gym- 
nasium and the library, until Sally and Mabel 
got wild to think they were n’t going, and I 
felt rather nervous. You know she is a senior, 
and Miss Humphreys told us she was Presi- 
dent of the Students’ Association, which keeps 
the college in order. She told us all about its 
rules and the way it enforces them. Dear me ! 
there ’s the bell ! ” Louise uttered an exclama- 
tion, shut the door and disappeared. 


A REAL TROUBLE. 


249 

Margy could not go to sleep that night. 
She could not help worrying over what Louise 
had told her about Ted. She was afraid that 
Mr. Meredith was mistaken and that Miss 
Hope-Woods would marry him after all, and 
she knew that would be the greatest of mis- 
fortunes for him. There was a little unac- 
knowledged feeling of jealousy to add to her 
discomfort. She had always been subject to 
that most uncomfortable of sensations, and it 
grieved her that Ted was so much to her and 
she so little to him. 

The doubt about her going to college 
bothered her, too. She was very happy in her 
present life, and felt that she would be still 
happier in the freedom of college. Margy 
had always been a rebel against personal 
restraint : that had been at the root of all her 
domestic difficulties. She did n’t mind restric- 
tions that affected her as a member of a 
community, but only those that touched her as 
an individual. Her mother’s sending her to 
bed was an insult : being sent by a bell as a 
member of a school was a natural and sensible 
proceeding. Then she felt possibilities in her- 
self, intellectual and moral possibilities, that 
college life and a college training would de- 
velope. She was sure she should never be able 


2$0 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


to write well if her education stopped where it 
was. Occasionally she had ideas or pieces of 
ideas that were original and had some literary 
value ; but she felt hopeless of working them 
out into a satisfactory shape. Miss Hum- 
phreys had talked to her so much about going 
to college that perhaps she overestimated its 
importance, or rather underestimated the 
training that experience and individual study 
gives. In her ignorance, it seemed to her that 
losing the scholarship would be the end of any 
future career. Then, if Ted married Miss 
Hope-Woods and continued to take so little 
interest in her, as he most certainly would 
under those circumstances, if Louise went to 
college with other friends and forgot about 
her, she felt that there would be nothing left 
for her in life worth having. 

It was a very cold night, and after lying 
shivering for an hour or two," Margy sum- 
moned courage enough to get out of bed and 
get a shawl to wrap around her. It was on 
her window-seat, and she stood a minute look- 
ing out the window at the Hollisters’ house 
opposite. It was very late, and not a light 
was to be seen except in the third story, where 
Edith Sandelin had told her the boys’ rooms 
were. They had probably just left pleasant 


A REAL TROUBLE. 


251 


and congenial company, and had certainly 
never once thought of her since the last time 
she had spoken to them, that happy Saturday 
night in the Thanksgiving holidays. It was 
dreadful to be so young and unimportant, so 
helpless to determine her own future. She 
crept back into bed again and finally fell asleep 
to dream troubled dreams in which Ted and 
her mother seemed to be ill-treating and abus- 
ing her in every possible way, while Miss 
Green, her old teacher, sat by and encour- 
aged them, looking more like a parrot than 
ever. 

The rising bell awoke her to a dark, cold, 
wintry Monday morning, with a feeling of ap- 
prehension that a letter from home did not 
tend to do away with. It was from one of her 
school friends with whom she corresponded 
occasionally, and spoke of Mrs. Brooks’ ill- 
health with sympathy and regret, evidently 
thinking that Margy knew all about it. She 
wrote home immediately and demanded full 
particulars. If her mother was ill, they had no 
right to keep it from her. After several days 
of suspense, she received a letter from her 
mother that reassured her a little, though it 
did not set her mind entirely at rest. She was 
not at all well, Mrs. Brooks wrote, but not in 


252 AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 

the slightest danger, and Margy was not to 
worry. She continued to write cheerful let- 
ters, and Margy was not actively alarmed again 
until she went home at Easter. 

The Saturday night following her return 
to school, she was putting away her books 
and thinking of how ill her mother had seemed 
and of how lost she felt without Louise, who 
had gone home for Sunday, when Miss Healey 
came to her room and told her that Ted was 
down stairs and wanted to see her. Margy 
had not seen him since Thanksgiving, and her 
first thought was that something was the mat- 
ter at home, and that he had come to tell her. 
Miss Healey’s manner reassured her, however. 
He would surely have spoken to her about it. 

“ I knew you would have told Miss Healey, 
or I should have thought something was the 
matter,” said Margy, as she went into the 
room and shook hands with Ted. 

“ No, nothing. I apologized to Miss Hea- 
ley for coming so late, and she said you might 
sit up a little later than usual. You see, 
Louise told me you were worried about your 
mother, and I thought I would come around 
and see what was up. Louise says she is n’t 
well.” 

“ No, she is n’t at all ; but the worst of it 


A REAL TROUBLE. 


253 


is that I can’t find out what is the matter 
with her. I noticed that something was wrong 
at Christmas, but she kept insisting that it 
was n’t anything, that she was only a little tired 
out. She never said a word about her health, 
although I used to ask in all my letters. She 
wrote as cheerfully as possible, and I never 
thought anything about her letters being so 
short, for she never writes long letters.” 

“ And you found her worse this vacation ? ” 
Ted asked, as Margy paused. 

“ Very much worse. She does almost noth- 
ing but lie on the sofa in the sitting-room. 
Imagine Mother lying on a sofa!” 

“ Of course she has a doctor.” 

“ Oh, yes. Dr. Herrick comes every few 
days. Mother does n’t seem so very ill except 
for her giving up so completely ; but what wor- 
ries me is that they won’t tell me what is the 
matter with her. I let out to Louise one day, 
and said that it was kinder to let me know the 
truth, whatever it was ; and the next day 
Mother told me something, but I am sure it 
was not the whole truth. I know just what 
they are trying to do. It is something serious, 
and they are trying to keep it from me, for fear 
that worrying will interfere with my studying. 
As if I could worry more than I am doing.” 


*54 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


“ I suppose Louise knows?” 

“ Yes : I am sure she does, but I could n’t 
get anything out of her, and, to tell the truth. 
I was afraid to try very hard.” Margy laid 
her face down on the table by which she was 
sitting. 

“You must n’t give up, old girl,” Ted said 
affectionately, laying his hand on her shoulder. 

“ I ’m not crying,” said Margy, raising her 
head. “ There is only one comfort. Louise 
made me a solemn promise that if Mother got 
a bit worse, she would let me know immedi- 
ately, and when Louise makes a promise, she 
keeps it. If she does, I shall go home imme- 
diately, and let the old scholarship slide.” 

“ I ’ll tell you what I ’ll do, Margy,” said 
Ted. “ I have some important business on 
hand, real business this time, and I can’t get 
away for the next two weeks ; but two weeks 
from to-day I ’ll take you home, and we’ll stay 
over Sunday. We won’t send word we are 
coming. Of course they mean it in kindness, 
but I don’t think it is fair to you to keep you 
in suspense.” 

“ I am sure Mrs. Mayhew, our rector’s wife, 
knows all about it, for the day I left home I 
found her and Louise in the parlor talking 
very intently ; and although they were just 


A REAL TROUBLE. 


2 55 


talking about the best way to make her little 
girls’ summer dresses, Louise looked confused 
and almost sent her away, and she is usually so 
hospitable, and I heard her whisper that I 
didn’t know anything about it. And she 
locked herself up in her room for hours at a 
time, and came out trying to look cheerful ; 
and Mother was always sending her away on 
pretexts, instead of wanting her with her all 
the time as she usually does ; and I am sure it 
was because she was afraid Louise would let it 
out.” Margy buried her face in her arms again, 
and this time she began to cry. Ted tried to 
comfort her in his sympathetic, affectionate 
way, but there was not much that could be 
said. 

“ It is n’t as if simply feeling badly were the 
only thing,” Margy said at last. “ If she dies, 
I shall never get over feeling remorseful that 
I was n’t a better daughter to her. She has 
slaved for me all her life, and I have hardly 
said thank you, but taken it all as a matter of 
course. She is the most unselfish mortal that 
ever lived ; but I have never appreciated her 
just because of a few trifles that were n’t 
worth noticing that annoyed me. And I have 
always been impertinent and disagreeable, and 
never took or pretended to take the slightest 


256 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL . 


interest in the things she was interested in. I 
have never been a companion to her as Louise 
has been.” 

“You may look back on this anxiety some 
time and be glad of it for making you see 
things in their true light. It may save you a 
real remorse later on,” Ted suggested. 

“Oh, but I feel it is coming now,” sobbed 
Margy. Ted did nothing but stroke her hair 
until she was calmer. Presently she raised 
her head and went on : “I have never even 
sat or walked with her ; but I was always 
crazy to get away to people who would say 
nice things to me, or to a novel, or to be alone 
and dream of what I would do when I grew 
up and had beautiful clothes and everyone fell 
in love with me. And I have never done my 
share of the work at home, but set myself up 
on a pedestal and expected every one to give 
in to me.” 

“ When we go home next time, you can be- 
gin to do differently,” Ted said consolingly. 
“ If Aunt Margaret is going to have a long ill- 
ness, it will be an easy way to change. It is 
so hard to do it in cold blood ; we all feel so 
ashamed of our better impulses, and then one’s 
resolution is so apt to flag without anything 
to stimulate it.” 


A REAL TROUBLE. 


257 


“ The worst of it is,” Margy went on in a 
despairing tone, “ The worst of it is that if 
Mother does get well, I shall probably be as 
bad as ever. I am so irritable and easily an- 
noyed that all my resolutions have a trick of 
disappearing, and trifles generally seem of 
more importance to me than big things. 
I hate her arranging flowers in tight squatty 
bouquets, much more than I appreciate her 
never thinking of herself.” 

“ I don’t think you will,” Ted answered. 
“ Of course it will be uphill work, and there 
will be a great many ups and downs ; but I am 
sure you will come out at the top in the long 
run. You have proved to us all what your will 
can do in all you have done for yourself 
last year and this. I never would know you 
for the same girl.” 

“ It is all owing to you if I have,” said 
Margy, warmly. “ I never would have im- 
proved at home.” Ted’s face fell, as he pro- 
tested : 

“ Don’t say that. I have not done anything 
except pay an old debt. I have n’t even set 
you a good example, and I have neglected 
you shamefully this year. Hang it, I ought 
to be kicked ! ” 

“ I do not mind so much being neglected 

17 


258 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


when I am happy if a person is always on 
hand when I am in trouble, as you always are, 
Ted. You are so sympathetic and comfortable.” 

“ I ’m a beast. But now, Margy, before I 
go I want you to promise me not to worry any 
more than you can help. It is a superstition 
to think that you are tempting trouble by not 
anticipating it. Just think what a disappoint- 
ment it will be to Aunt Margaret if you lose 
the scholarship on account of being anxious 
about her. If you want me, send for me and 
I ’ll come. I am going to be away, off and on, 
on business or I ’d come anyway ; and two 
weeks from to-day we ’ll run down and see 
how things are for ourselves.” He kissed her 
kindly for good night and then left her. Miss 
Healey’s door was open as Margy went by, 
and she called her in. 

“What is the matter?” she asked anxiously 
on seeing her tear-stained face. Margy told 
her, and felt a little easier in her mind after 
she had done it, although Miss Healey did 
not have any especial comfort to offer. She 
readily gave her permission to go home with 
Ted. 

Margy tried not to worry, but could not 
help it. She lost her appetite and grew thin, 
while she looked forward with a mixture of 


A REAL TROUBLE. 


2 59 


eagerness and apprehension to her visit home. 
The Thursday before she was to go, she 
received word that Ted had come home from 
Boston with a horrible cold on his lungs. He 
was ill in bed, but was taking the best of care 
of himself in the hope of being well enough to 
go on Saturday. Friday noon Miss Healey 
sent for Margy to come to her room. She 
had a very grave face, and held an open letter 
in her hand. Margy knew what to expect im- 
mediately. Louise had written to Miss 
Healey, enclosing a letter to Margy. Their 
mother was very ill ; there would have to be 
an operation immediately, and Margy must 
come home. They had known for a long time 
that there would have to be one eventually, 
but had hoped that it would not be until after 
Margy ’s examinations were over. Miss Healey 
hated to have Margy go home alone, but there 
did not seem to be any one who could go 
with her. 

It was a desolate journey and a still more 
desolate home-coming. The operation was to 
be the next morning. That day and the fort- 
night that followed were so dreadful that 
Margy could never think of them in after 
years without a shudder. There were alterna- 
tions of hope and despair, and finally, at the 


260 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


end of that time, a little hope came to stay. 
The doctor’s verdict was that with the best of 
care Mrs. Brooks would probably live to be a 
comparatively well woman, though she would 
never be so strong as she had heretofore been. 
Margy rushed off and wrote this delightful 
news to Ted, who was himself still ill, his cold 
having proved a more serious matter than was 
at first supposed. 

In the beginning, of course Margy had not 
time to think of anything but her anxiety for 
her mother ; then relief and joy absorbed her; 
but after that, the loss of the scholarship came 
more prominently before her. She was more 
than tolerably successful in hiding the grief this 
caused her from her mother, who was still 
very weak, but she seemed to feel it all the 
more for this concealment. It meant good-by 
to all that seemed most desirable in life, — good- 
by to Ted and Louise and the Hollisters and 
Dolly Harper and congenial surroundings, to 
an education, to future independence, to every- 
thing. It was hard to smile and look cheerful 
with this thought always in the background, 
but Margy managed to do it. The little town 
seemed duller and more unattractive than 
ever, and so did its inmates. There was not 
one person she cared anything about within its 


A REAL TROUBLE. 


261 


limits ; and, besides, those friends she had 
made seemed the only desirable ones to her. 
Sometimes when at evening she would go out 
for a walk, leaving Louise in charge of the 
invalid, an intensity of feeling for what she 
had lost, for the possibilities rather than the 
actualities of the life that she had been lead- 
ing, would come over her with such force that 
only the thought of going to her mother with 
red eyes had the power to keep her from 
giving away completely. She had a number 
of letters from the teachers and girls, from 
Louise and Ted, and even a sympathetic 
friendly note from Miss Harper, but they 
made her feel so badly that she almost wished 
they would n’t come. The girls’ letters were 
all so full of regret at the loss of the scholar- 
ship and the certainty that Margy would have 
been the happy owner of it that she found 
herself looking upon it as an actual possession 
that she had had to give up. And all the time 
that Margy was sorrowing over the loss of an 
education, she was receiving, if she had only 
known it, better discipline than Greek and 
higher mathematics, or even college influences 
could give : she was learning to be master of 
herself, to subordinate her moods, her personal 
sorrows to more important considerations. 


262 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


The little irritations of home life were, how- 
ever, less numerous than ever before. Eliza 
was quite respectful, considering ; and Margy’s 
relations to her mother had entirely changed, 
as was natural. She could hardly believe that 
the patient invalid was the active aggressive 
mother that she had had so many altercations 
with. Even the hated earrings were gone. 
Their mutual positions were reversed. From 
being waited on and considered in every way, 
Margy found herself waiting on and consider- 
ing. She never would be the nurse Louise 
was, but she did her best to imitate her quiet, 
thoughtful ways. 

It was about this time that she received a 
kind letter from Mrs. Meredith, offering to 
lend her the money to go to college for an in- 
definite time without interest. It was so kindly 
written that Margy hated to have to refuse her 
offer ; but she felt, as her mother and Louise 
did, that she could not start life with a debt of 
sixteen hundred dollars which she might never 
be able to pay. There was, besides, the fear 
that the obligation would make her relations 
with Louise Meredith less pleasant. It almost 
broke her heart to put the prospect aside, but 
it was not to be thought of. 

A little discovery that she made was a con- 


A REAL TROUBLE. 


263 


siderable annoyance to her, at the same time 
that it was a relief. Underneath the awful 
anxiety of those first few days at home was 
the minor one in regard to the money that the 
doctors and the nurse would cost, and where it 
was to come from. She finally said something 
about it to Louise one morning when she was 
helping her make her bed. Louise put down 
the pillow she was shaking, and going to her 
top bureau drawer, took out a bank-book, 
which she handed to Margy. The name of 
Louise Meredith Brooks was on the outside, 
and within were entries amounting to over five 
hundred dollars. In answer to Margy’s ques- 
tions, she told her the story of it. It seemed 
that as soon as Mrs. Brooks knew what was 
before her, her first thought was for the heavy 
expenses that would have to be met. She con- 
sulted Louise, and the household was put on 
the narrowest running expenses. Not a pin 
was bought that could be helped. Eliza was 
lent out for all but a couple of hours a day, on 
the stipulation that she should be free for 
Margy’s vacations. Eliza had long been the 
envy of the village for her cooking, and soon 
her time was fully occupied. She prepared 
the suppers for the dancing school parties, and 
every other kind of entertainment that was 


264 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


given ; and cooked dinner every day for a 
woman who kept boarders. Of the money 
that was earned in these ways, not a penny 
would she take more than her regular wages. 
Of her own accord she made cakes and can- 
dies, which she sold, depositing the proceeds in 
the common fund. She even gave up eating 
meat on the pretext that her teeth were not 
good enough. Every particle of cream from 
their cow was saved and sold as butter. The 
last act of that enterprising woman had been 
to buy two pigs and fatten them. These she 
sold at a handsome profit. 

All this had been Eliza’s work ; but Louise 
and her mother were not satisfied with the lit- 
tle retrenching they were able to do. They set 
up as dressmakers on a small scale, and had 
been making clothes for all the well-to-do- 
children in the village for the past eight 
months. After Mrs. Brooks was too ill to sew, 
Louise had gone on with it herself. They 
had earned a little money in other ways, too, 
and the combined result was to be seen in 
Louise’s bank-book. Much as she admired 
them for what they had done, and hard as she 
tried to overcome the feeling, Margy’s pride 
was hurt at the idea of their taking in sewing. 
She had always held her head so high above 


A REAL TROUBLE. 


265 


her neighbors. She told herself that the feel- 
ing was unworthy of her, but there it was all 
the same. She made Louise promise to give 
it up as soon as the orders she had on hand 
were finished. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


A GLEAM OF HOPE. 

T HE days fixed for the examinations came 
and went. Margy had a few lines from 
Louise, saying that they had taken 
them, that they had not been so hard as she 
had expected them to be, and that the result 
would not be known for at least two weeks. 
One evening after supper, about ten days after 
receiving this, Margy was walking along the 
winding road by the river, thinking some such 
sad little thoughts of her own that she was not 
looking where she was going ; and it was only 
when, on coming around a sharp bend in the 
road, a well-known voice said “ Margy ! ” that 
she raised her eyes. 

“ O Ted ! ” she exclaimed, and throwing her 
arms around him, she hugged him rapturously, 
at the same time that she began to cry. 

“ Don’t, Margy, you baby ! ” said Ted, kiss- 
ing her affectionately. It was only after she 

266 


A GLEAM OE HOPE. 


267 


was calm again, and had given him the latest 
particulars about her mother, that she asked : 

“ Did the Phenom. get it?” 

“ Guess again.” 

“ She did fit ! Was it Alice Patterson ? ” 

“You ’re stone cold.” 

“ Did Gertrude Mayne change her mind and 
compete ? ” 

“ ’Way off.” 

“ Did anybody get it ? ” 

“ Yes, ma’am.” 

“ Well, I give it up. It could n’t have been 
any of the other girls. They were n’t in it at 
all. Who was it, Ted ? ” 

“ Louise Meredith.” 

“ Louise ? ” 

“ It ’s a long story. She told me to tell you 
all about it, so let ’s sit down on that big rock 
and be comfortable.” 

“ I ’m too astonished to speak. What pos- 
sessed her to try for it ? ” 

“ Well, after you went home, she went to 
Miss Healey and her friend, — the woman who 
gave the scholarship.” 

“Mrs. Neal, you mean.” 

“Yes, Mrs. Neal. And she got her to ask 
all the girls who were competing to let it stand 
open for a month, so that you might have a 


268 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


chance to study up and have a try at it. They 
all agreed except the Phenom., and she cut up 
rough, and called Louise some pretty hard 
names, said she knew she was at the bottom of 
it, and that she was determined to cheat her 
out of it and give it to you if she could possi- 
bly manage it. You know our young friend 
Louise has n’t the most unruffable temper in 
the world, and this made her so mad that she 
sent her name in immediately, took her ex- 
aminations with the other girls, and won the 
scholarship. Why, you don’t look half so 
pleased as I expected you to, Margy.” 

“ I can’t help being a little sorry for the 
Phenom. You know she has to earn her own 
living. And then it does n’t seem like Louise 
to take it away from her just because she was 
angry at her.” 

“Wait till you hear the rest of it. Of 
course Louise does n’t want the money, so she 
has given it back to Mrs. Neal, and got her to 
offer another scholarship to be competed for 
in the fall. Any girl who has been at Miss 
Healey’s this year can try for it, the Phenom. 
and all. There, Margy, what do you think of 
that ? ” Margy’s eyes danced. 

“ O Ted ! ” was all she said. 

“ Well, the Phenom. was hopping mad about 


A GLEAM OF HOPE. 


269 


it, and calls it a low trick ; but she is deter- 
mined to win next time, so you ’ll have to 
work hard. Miss Patterson is going to try 
again too.” 

u Oh, dear me ! I wish I could see 
Louise ! ’ 

“You can to-morrow morning if you like.” 

“ How?” 

“Simply by being at home.” 

“ Where is she ? ” 

“ At the Murrays’ with me. They are 
always inviting us to visit them, so, when we 
heard about the exams, a day or two ago, we 
wrote and asked them if they could have us, 
and just came down on the last train. Louise 
felt she ought not to run off immediately, but 
sent me over to tell you.” 

“ How did you know the Phenom. is going 
to compete ? ” Margy asked. 

“ She is visiting some cousins of hers in 
New York, and Miss Healey went to see her 
and told her about it. But I must be going. 
I ’ll come over and see your mother and your 
Louise to-morrow.” 

Margy almost ran home, she was so eager 
to tell the news. Mrs. Brooks and Louise 
were apparently as much delighted as she was, 
although they were all sorry for the Phenom. 


270 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


Margy could n’t get over the idea that it 
was n’t quite fair, though she could n’t exactly 
see in what the unfairness consisted. This 
did not prevent its being perfectly rapturous, 
however. 

She was up early the next morning, putting 
everything in perfect order, and trying to 
make everything look its best for Louise’s 
visit. Miss Murray drove her over and left 
her while she did some errands in the village. 
They were not in the habit of being demon- 
strative with one another, but Margy kissed 
Louise three times, and Louise returned them 
before they realized what they were doing. 

“ Oh, dear me, Louise, I am so glad to see 
you ! ” Margy exclaimed. 

“ So am I. And I want to see Louise. And 
do you suppose I can see your mother?” 

“Yes, she is very anxious to see you. Come 
into the parlor.” 

Much as Margy had always admired and 
liked Louise, she thought she had never ad- 
mired or liked her so much as she did that 
morning. Her manner to her mother and 
sister was perfect, — friendly, and natural, with- 
out a suspicion of patronage ; and the few 
words of sympathy that she expressed to the 
former were in the best of taste. She felt 


A GLEAM OF HOPE. 


271 


proud of her friend, too, of her general air of 
good breeding, and of being some one in par- 
ticular, of the freshness and good style of her 
clothes. Her white duck gown, white shoes, 
gloves, and sailor hat, her blue and white 
shirt, looked as if they had been put on for 
the first time ten minutes before. 

“ I have heard Ted speak 'of ‘ Aunt Mar- 
garet ’ all my life,” Louise said at last, “ and 
it is strange I never saw you before, and I have 
always been so much interested in the other 
Louise. How unlike she and Margy look. 
One would never dream they were sisters.” 

“And they are even more unlike than they 
look,” said Mrs. Brooks ; and then went on to 
ask her about her father and mother, whom 
she had known so many years before. 

“ I like your mother so much, and Louise is 
just as sweet as she can be, and this is such a 
dear old house. It is so unlike the houses 
new people live in,” Louise said to Margy as 
they went down the path to the gate, where 
Miss Murray was waiting in her pony carriage 
for Louise. 

“ I am so glad you like it. But, Louise, I 
have n’t asked half the questions I wanted to 
about the examinations and the girls and all 
sorts of things.” 


272 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


“We’ll have lots of time for that in the 
next three days. I ’ll see as much of you as I 
possibly can, but I suppose I ’ll have to be a 
good deal with- ” and Louise motioned to- 

wards Miss Murray. When Margy had 
opened the gate she went on : “ Miss Murray, 
I want to introduce Ted’s cousin, Miss Brooks, 
to you.” Miss Murray was very cordial. 

“ I have often seen you in church, Miss 
Brooks, and I have known your mother for a 
long time, and am so much pleased to hear 
she is getting on so well.” 

“Yes,” answered Margy, “she is really a 
great deal better.” 

“ I wish you would count this as a call,” 
Miss Murray went on, “ and come over and 
spend the afternoon and take tea with us to- 
morrow. We will have some tennis, and Mr. 
Meredith can drive you home. I would ask 
your sister, too, but I suppose you cannot both 
leave Mrs. Brooks.” 

“ I should like to very much,” said Margy, 
warmly. 

“ Oh, jolly ! ” exclaimed Louise. Miss 
Murray stayed and talked a few minutes more, 
and then drove off. Margy fairly skipped up 
the path to the house. The world seemed a 
very different place to-day from what jt did at 


A GLEAM OF HOPE. 


273 


the same time yesterday. Her mother and 
Louise were as enthusiastic about Louise 
Meredith as even she could wish. 

“ I don’t wonder you are so discouraged 
about your clothes,” Louise said at length. 
“ I thought that gingham of yours was very 
pretty, Margy, until Louise Meredith came in. 
Then I understood why you despised it so.” 

“I told you it was hopeless,” Margy an- 
swered. “ But I don’t care. I don’t care for 
anything to-day. I am going to iron out my 
white gown, and then I ’ll come and read to 
you, Mother, although I don’t believe I can 
pay the slightest attention.” 

“ Never mind,” said Louise. “ I ’ll read to 
Mother. I feel like a fine lady of leisure with 
no sewing for other people on my hands.” 

Ted came over after dinner, but he did not 
stay long for fear of tiring his aunt. 

“ Louise and I are coming over to take you 
for a drive to-morrow morning,” he said to 
Louise, as he got up to go. “ We want to 
get better acquainted with you. We are so 
proud of our cousin the dressmaker. We saw 
two prettily dressed little girls in front of the 
rectory yesterday afternoon on our way to the 
Murrays’, and Louise wondered if you made 
their dresses.” 


274 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


“ Yes,” Louise answered, coloring with pleas- 
ure. “ I made all their summer clothes.” 

“ And just think how young she is,” said 
Margy, feeling better about the dressmaking 
since Ted and Louise Meredith thought it 
something to be proud of. She had written 
about it to him in answer to an offer of his to 
lend them some money. 

Margy enjoyed her afternoon at the Mur- 
rays’ thoroughly. They had a beautiful place 
on the river, a little out of town, and it had 
been a dream of hers ever since she could re- 
member to explore its gardens and green- 
houses. The old house had burned down 
eight or nine years before, and the fire had 
been the event of Margy’s childhood. She 
and her doll assisted at it from beginning to 
end. They had been playing under a lilac 
bush at the gate when people began to rush 
by. Margy and Angelica Maud, who were an 
enterprising pair, joined them, and that night 
poor Angelica Maud’s ashes mingled with the 
ashes of many another treasure, and Margy’s 
own would have been added to the pile if it 
had not been for their butcher boy. She had 
thought it was too good an opportunity to lose 
for exploring Castle Beautiful, and nearly came 
to grief in consequence. The Murrays had 


A GLEAM OF MOPE. 


275 


other homes, and the house had not been re- 
built until a year before our story opens. Then 
a palatial old English mansion went up on the 
ruins of poor old Castle Beautiful, which would 
not have lived up to its name in the eyes of 
our heroine after her vast experience of two 
winters in a New York boarding-school. It 
had been a bay-windowed mass of mill work, 
cut up into long, narrow rooms with sepulchral 
marble mantelpieces and frescoed ceilings, so 
high that you almost had to take an opera 
glass to look at them. The new house, built 
when Mr. Murray’s wealth was some twenty 
years older, really deserved the title. The 
grounds had been kept up all the time they 
were houseless, but that memorable occasion 
was the only time Margy was ever in them. 
The tall iron gates were always locked ; big 
black dogs were seen prowling around inside, 
and reports circulated at school about the tem- 
per of the gardener. Margy had often flat- 
tened her little nose trying to look through 
knot-holes in the high board fence into the wil- 
derness of trees and shrubs within ; but she 
could only catch tantalizing glimpses of mys- 
terious little winding paths over which the 
trees met, of big moss-covered rocks with tall 
ferns growing out of their crevices, and, most 


276 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


tantalizing of all, a rushing little brown brook 
bordered with alders. 

It was with a feeling of intense though sub- 
dued excitement that she dressed herself and 
walked along the winding road by the river, 
on through the tall iron gates, now thrown 
hospitably open, and up the elm-shaded drive 
to the beautiful entrance. Louise and Ted 
were in the hall with Miss Murray and her two 
brothers. 

“ Oh, please, may n’t I show Margy the 
house and grounds ? ” Louise asked when the 
greetings were over. 

“ Certainly, if she would care to see them,” 
answered Miss Murray. Margy had never 
been in a handsome country house before, and 
the size and magnificence of this one aston- 
ished her. It seemed strange that there should 
have been such splendors within a mile of her 
home, and that she had never seen them. 
Even Louise, who had seen so much, was 
enthusiastic. 

“ It does n’t seem nice to talk about people 
in their own house, or I ’d tell you something 
Father told me about Mr. Murray’s wealth,” 
she said when they were in her own room. 
This was a dream of beauty, convenience, and 
luxury, with a magnificent outlook over the 


A GLEAM OF HOPE. 


277 


surrounding country. “ I don’t see why you 
hate your home so, Margy,” she went on, as 
they stood in front of a latticed window' 
around which woodbine was climbing and 
straying into the room. “It is one of the 
most beautiful places I ever was in.” 

“ Oh, but you see it only at its very best. 
If you were here in winter and lived in the vil- 
lage instead of in this beautiful place, and 
did n’t find your neighbors congenial, you 
would hate it, too. The beauties of nature 
add to one’s happiness, but they are dreadfully 
lonesome for a steady diet when you don’t 
have anything else. If I had you and Ted 
here, I should love it.” 

“And the Hollisters,” Louise added. 

“And the Hollisters,” Margy repeated. 

They found Ted in his room putting on his 
tennis shoes. His blue shirt and white duck 
trousers were very becoming to him, but Margy 
thought he looked thin and pale. 

“Are you quite well again, Ted?” she 
asked affectionately. “ You are looking thin.” 

“ Oh, I ’ll pick up in a week or two. I think 
I have gained several pounds since I have 
been here. I am perfectly well. You are a 
nice little girl to care,” he added, patting her 
on the shoulder, as she still looked at him 


278 AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 

anxiously. Margy took his hand in both hers 
and laid her cheek against it. 

“ How can I help it when you are so good 
to me,” she said. Louise broke in upon this 
little scene with a, 

“If you and Ted are quite through spoon- 
ing, I think we’d better go down. Miss Mur- 
ray will wonder what is keeping us.” Margy 
dropped Ted’s hand and put her arm around 
Louise ; and Ted put his arms around them 
both and gave them a good hug. 

“ I like it that you are not ashamed of being 
affectionate,” Margy said when he let them go. 

“ No, but Louise is ; it embarrasses her 
almost to death,” Ted answered laughing. 
Margy laughed too. 

“ Isn’t it dreadful? I am always scared 
silly when I touch her for fear she ’ll explode. 
I almost never do it. Now I can’t help being 
made affectionate, but I know just how she 
feels, for I feel just so with my family.” 

“ You are a pair of spoons,” said Louise as 
she led the way from the room. 

“ She does n’t mind it, she likes it,” Ted 
said to Margy as they followed her down the 
broad stairs. “It is only her way of being 
shy. She was as affectionate as possible in 
— the late unpleasantness,’ 


A GLEAM OF HOPE. 


279 


Exploring the grounds was even more inter- 
esting to Margy, she had so often imagined 
the details for herself. Miss Murray and her 
brothers joined them, but the three young men 
left them at the tennis court. When the girls 
came back after seeing everything worth see- 
ing, Ted and George Murray were just finish- 
ing a most exciting set in which Ted was 
victorious. Margy could not play, so she sat 
with Miss Murray and watched the others. 
Jack Murray was a very fine player, and he 
and Louise stood the other two, and came very 
near beating them, too. Margy had never 
seen Louise play before and was struck with 
admiration of her skill. The Murrays were 
enthusiastic over it, too, 

“ Why, this is nothing to what she can do 
when she.’s in practice,” said Ted. “ I wish 
you could have seen her do up an English girl 
at Bar Harbor last summer. They said she 
was a champion at home, but you can never 
believe such reports. Every man is a prophet 
in a far country. She played a dandy game, 
though.” 

The meal which the Murrays called supper 
out of deference to Mr. Murray’s liking for 
supper at night was far too elaborate for the 
name. Margy, who had a fine healthy appe- 


2§0 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


tite of her own and a keen appreciation of 
good things to eat, enjoyed it heartily. She 
ceased to be anxious about Ted after she saw 
the supper he eat. Mr. and Mrs. Murray were 
quiet, unoffensive, commonplace people, so the 
young people had it all their own way, and a 
very jolly way it was. Margy amused them 
all with her version of their fire. Ted seemed 
quite his old self again. It was a lovely moon- 
light night, and at ten o’clock he drove her 
home. It had been a thoroughly pleasant 
visit, and Margy had only one regret, that she 
had not had an opportunity to ask Louise 
about Ted’s affairs and receive the latest bul- 
letins. 

It had been arranged that Louise and Ted 
were to come and stay one night with them 
before they went home. This was to be two 
nights later. The next day they were all 
going off on an excursion. Miss Murray 
kindly invited Margy to go too ; but she did 
not feel she ought to leave her mother, espe- 
cially as her sister Louise was going out to tea 
at the rectory. Eliza exerted herself to live 
up to her reputation, and gave them as good 
a supper as one of Aunt Abby’s, for she had 
a soft spot for Ted in her poor old heart. 
Louise Meredith, who knew what would please 


A GLEAM OF HOPE. 


281 


Margy, had brought down some of her pretti- 
est summer clothes, and she looked very sweet 
and attractive in her fresh pink and white 
dimity. The two girls went out for a walk 
after supper while Ted talked to his Aunt and 
Louise Brooks helped Eliza. They met sev- 
eral people Margy knew, and as they all stopped 
and asked about her mother, she introduced 
Louise to them, and felt a great deal of pride 
and pleasure in doing it. 

“ Tell me, Louise, have you enjoyed your 
visit to the Murrays?” she asked, when they 
were out of the town and were walking along 
by the river. 

“Yes, indeed, very much. It is such a 
lovely place, and then it has been nice being 
so much with you. But, Margy, it is a won- 
der to me how people can have such advan- 
tages and opportunities and still be so stupid 
and uninteresting. It is horrid in me to say 
this, for no one could have been kinder or 
more hospitable ; but they never understand 
what you say to them the first time you say 
it, they are that dull. And they have n’t any 
sense of humor. I don’t believe Miss Murray 
or her mother could see a joke if you ham- 
mered it into them. And yet they have trav- 
elled so much and seen so much.” 


2%2 


AN UNLESSONEL) girl. 


“ The boys did n’t seem dull to me,” said 
Margy. 

“George isn’t. He’s the cleverest of the 
lot. He is really companionable. Ted likes 
them because they are such all-around athletes, 
and they were in all the nicest societies at 
Harvard on that account. Jack was on the 
Eleven, you know, and they both had records 
of various kinds. They perfectly adore Ted, 
and laugh at every word he says. I like them 
for that.” 

“ You have n’t told me anything about Ted. 
He seems different, some way, more like his 
old self,” said Margy. 

“ I wondered if you would notice it, and I 
have been waiting for an opportunity to tell 
you. He is off with his Ginny, and I fancy it 
is for keeps this time, as they say she is posi- 
tively engaged to that horrid Mr. Johnson, — 
the man with the fifteen roan horses, you 
know. They say his wealth is fabulous. Do 
you know, Margy, Dolly Harper told me that 
one of Virginia’s friends told her that she 
thought she cared a lot for Ted, but that she 
was determined to marry money ; and that 
that has been her hold over him, — he knew 
she cared for him. She fascinated him, too, 
against his will.” 


A GLEAM OF HOPE. 


283 


“ Poor girl ! ” said Margy, sympathetically. 

“Yes, she has never had a show to be nice. 
Her mother was horrid, they say. I ’m dread- 
fully glad it ’s off, though, for her influence has 
been so bad for Ted. Dolly said that she 
heard Ginny had been playing a sort of double 
game with Ted and Mr. Johnson, and that 
Ted found it out, and washed his hands of her 
on the spot.” 

“ But how did you and Miss Harper come 
to discuss it? That seems the funniest of all 
to me. 

“Oh, we’re that chummy, she and I. I ’m 
coming to that, though. Well, Ted was feel- 
ing pretty badly, although I fancy it was his 
pride more than anything else that was 
affected ; and that dreadful cold he took in 
Boston put on the finishing touches. I told 
you that he and Dolly have n’t been friends 
for ever so long. He never asked her to 
dance all last winter. Well, one Saturday 
afternoon, when he was getting better, I was 
sitting in the morning-room with him ; and I 
looked out the window and saw Dolly go into 
Mrs. Madison’s, across the street. I told Ted 
about it, hoping it would divert him, for he 
was horribly blue. I also told him at the same 
time that that nice Mr. Hamilton, who had 


284 AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 

been so attentive to her for a long time, had 
sailed for a trip around the world. He did n’t 
make any comments ; but presently he said he 
wished I ’d tell Joseph to watch for her when 
she came out, and ask her to come and see 
him. Mother could chaperon her. Now I 
knew Mother had gone out, but I did n’t say 
anything except that I did n’t think she ’d come 
just for a message, so he asked me for a card, 
and wrote a few lines on it, and gave it to me 
to put in an envelope. I asked him if I might 
read it, and he said he did n’t care, so I did.” 

“ What did he say ? ” Margy asked breath- 
lessly as Louise paused. This was the most 
exciting story she had ever heard in her life. 
Novels were flat beside it. 

“ I can remember exactly. It said : ‘ Won’t 
you please pretend I am one of your Boys’ 
Club boys, and come in and see me. Aunt 
Madeline will chaperon you. I am sick of 
life and a cold, and longing for a little sym- 
pathy. The Prod, is tired of husks.’ And, 
Margy, he signed it ‘ Ted ’ ! ” 

“ Oh ! ” exclaimed Margy. “ Go on, 
Louise.” 

“ Well, I watched her come out of the 
house and Joseph run after her and give 
her the note. She hesitated a minute and 


A GLEAM OF MOPE. 


285 


then followed him across the street. I rushed 
down stairs and met her at the door before 
she could ask Joseph for Mother, and took her 
upstairs and into the morning-room, and then 
I skipped. And, Margy, she stayed nearly 
two hours, and then she came to my room for 
me, and her eyes were so bright, and she 
looked so pretty. She had her new spring 
gown on, and it ’s perfectly lovely. Remind 
me to tell you about it afterwards. Well, she 
only said she hoped her mother would never 
know about this, as she would give her Hail 
Columbia, and I said that nobody need ever 
know anything about it, for ’Joseph thought / 
had sent for her. Then she hurried off, but 
she kissed me good-by, which she never did 
before, and we have been great friends ever 
since. And once she asked me to spend Sun- 
day with her, one Sunday when Ted was away ; 
and that night when I began to talk to her 
about Ginny, she let me go on, and after a 
while she talked about her too, and told me 
lots of things I had never suspected. I wish 
I could tell you about them, but I promised I 
would n’t repeat them.” 

“ Oh, dear ! ” sighed Margy. 

“ It s too bad. But we ought to be going 
back ; it s getting dark.” 


286 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


“Do you think she likes him?” Margy 
asked shyly. 

“Who? Dolly? I don’t know. I don’t 
even know whether he cares for her. Her 
family would n’t like it if she did, I fancy, for 
they want her to make a big match ; and then 
I know she would n’t have him unless he 
amounts to more than he has done this last 
year or two.” 

That night as the girls were going to bed, 
Ted laid his hand on Margy’s arm and held 
her back. 

“ I want to speak to you a minute,” he said, 
when the two Louises had gone on upstairs. 
“ Isn’t your birthday very near?” 

“ Yes ; next week.” 

“ I wanted to give you something, and I 
thought you would like something of my 
mother’s.” He put his hand in his pocket 
and brought out a beautiful turquoise ring 
set with small diamonds, and put it in Margy’s 
hand. 

“Oh, Ted!” was all she could say for a 
minute. “ It ’s too beautiful for me ! You 
ought not to give it to me. You ought to 
keep it for Mrs. Ted.” 

“ She will have plenty besides. Mother had 
a great many rings. I give it to you, Margy, 


A GLEAM OF HOPE. 


287 


because I want to, because I am so much 
pleased with all you have done for yourself 
the past two years. You are a person worth 
helping. I wrote to Louise Brooks and asked 
her how you were bearing your disappointment 
about the scholarship, and she told me how 
brave and cheerful and uncomplaining you 
were. You little goose, if you cry again, I ’ll 
take it back ! You are a regular Niobe.” 

“ I can’t help it,” said Margy, tearfully. 

“ There is something else I want to say to 
you,” Ted went on. “ At least, I don’t want 
to, but I suppose it is good for me. I ’m dead 
ashamed to think how I preached to you, and 
how I didn’t practice, in any sense of the word, 
myself. I have n’t behaved myself very well 
the past two years, but I ’m a reformed char- 
acter now. I’ve forsworn — banjos.” Margy 
laughed. 

“ Don’t, Ted,” she protested. “ It makes 
me ashamed to have you say such things to 
me. It makes me blush whenever I think how 
I acted when you were here before — even in 
the dark.” 

“ I suppose Louise told you about the lect- 
ure she gave me,” Ted went on, when they 
were half-way upstairs. 

“ She gave me a sketch of it,” said Margy, 


288 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


stopping and leaning against the banisters. 
Ted laughed softly. 

“ Well, it was a lecture. She gave it to me 
about this very thing, trying to reform you 
and then running down hill myself. I was in- 
clined to be angry, and I don’t know that it 
would have done any good if it had n’t been 
for the combined effects of being ill and — 
other things. I suppose she told you about 
the other things ? ” 

“ She told me something.” To Margy’s 
surprise, Ted laughed softly to himself again 
as he said in a whisper : 

“ I got beautifully left, and it served me 
right. Good-night, Margy.” 

“ Good-night, Ted. I know I have n’t half 
thanked you, but I don’t know how to do it.” 


CHAPTER XV. 


ALL ’s WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 

T ED and Louise went away the next day ; 
and Margy buckled down immediately 
to hard work. Miss Green heard what 
she was doing, and insisted on helping her, so 
she had some one to take her difficulties to. 
The next three months were divided between 
her mother and her books, while Louise de- 
voted herself to putting her wardrobe in order 
for her, in case it should be needed. She tried 
in every possible way to prepare her mind for 
defeat, and would not let herself dwell on the 
future at all. 

If any one had told Margy two months be- 
fore that her mother could be out of danger, 
that there could still be a chance of her going 
to college, and that, under these circumstances, 
she could still not be happy, she most cer- 
289 


290 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


tainly would not have believed it ; and yet this 
was exactly the case. Louise Meredith had 
gone straight to Bar Harbor after leaving her. 
Miss Harper was there already ; and from the 
moment of Louise’s arrival, her letters over- 
flowed with nothing but “ Dolly,” from the 
first line to the last of the four pages that were 
her limit. Louise was not a good letter-writer ; 
her jerky, constrained letters were a con- 
stant disappointment, and added to the jeal- 
ousy Margy was already disposed to feel. 
She was too young to have much experience 
of the difference between people’s writing and 
speaking selves. Louise’s letters had not 
been any more cordial the summer before, but 
then there had not been the same intimacy be- 
tween them. She wrote Louise long, intimate, 
interesting letters, and, after a long delay, re- 
ceived short, scrappy, uncommunicative ones 
in return, telling little or nothing that she 
wanted to know. The one fact that she gath- 
ered was that Louise was a great deal with 
Dolly Harper. She tried to persuade herself 
that it was only Louise’s style, or lack of style, 
in writing, and that she was really as much 
interested in her as ever, but she could not 
do it. 


ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 291 


Besides, it was inconceivable that Louise 
could spare many thoughts for her when Dolly 
was around. She was so unformed, so ignorant, 
even compared to Louise herself. Yet all 
would be gone if Louise ceased to care for her. 
Her going to college was very doubtful, and 
Louise’s friendship was her chief hope for the 
future. She could not give it up. Here is 
one of the letters that brought such despairing 
thoughts to poor Margy : 

Dear Margy, 

I have only a minute to write as I am going canoeing 
with Dolly. I am ashamed of not answering your last 
letter before, but I have been so on the go. I would 
have done it yesterday afternoon, but Mother wanted me 
to make some calls with her, and then Dolly came in. 
I am afraid this won’t be much of a letter anyway. If I 
saw you, I could tell you of millions of things, but when 
one sits down to write, there does n’t seem to be anything 
to say. I don’t see how you manage to write such long 
interesting letters. I am always so much pleased to get 
one. I read part of your last to Dolly when it came. 
Ted says it is just laziness on my part, not having any- 
thing to write about. He is not coming up for a week 
yet. He writes that he is hard at work, and Father says 
he is slaving. As soon as he really showed a disposition 
to work, Father gave him a lot to do. There, I can’t 
think of another thing to say. I am going on a picnic 
with the Harpers to-morrow and a lot of people whom 
you don’t know. I am beginning to feel quite grown 


292 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


up, and I can occasionally think of a thing to say to a 
man. Tom and Arthur Hollister are coming up to stay 
with the Harpers before long. 

With love to Louise, 

Your sincere friend, 

Louise Meredith. 

There was nothing especial to complain of 
in this letter except its hasty indifferent tone ; 
but Margy felt this keenly. She felt it the 
more that the letter which it answered had 
been unusually expansive and affectionate. 
She had been certain she would receive an im- 
mediate reply in the same strain. After three 
weeks of suspense, this letter had come. 
Margy’s whole soul was in the mail now, in 
the chance of a letter from Louise or Ted, or, 
in default of these, from one of the girls she 
had known at school. 

At mail time she went to the Post Office 
with beating heart, almost afraid to look 
through the little glass door of their box 
for fear she should be disappointed, and 
she almost always was. An hour before she 
would begin to be anxious and expectant, 
would try not to hope, and would repeat to 
herself over and over that she was sure she 
should not get a letter that d&y. All the 


ALL 'S WELL THA T ENDS WELL. 


2 93 


same, the empty box would bring several mo- 
ments of sickening disappointment ; and then 
she would begin to hope again for the next 
day. 

She would have got into a very morbid 
state of mind if it had not been for her study- 
ing and the necessity of keeping up her 
mother’s spirits, which were easily depressed. 
Ted’s letters were easy and affectionate, very 
different from Louise’s, but she had only two 
of them during the summer. These she read 
into tatters. 

Envy was added to jealousy later on when 
Ted and the Hollisters were up at Bar 
Harbor and Louise’s letters hinted at all 
sorts of delightful festivities, in almost all of 
which Louise was included. It seemed very 
hard to pleasure-loving Margy. She would 
have enjoyed it all so much ; and she knew she 
was too pretty to be entirely neglected. The 
Hollisters had seemed to like her quite as well 
as Louise. It was hard, too, that Louise did 
not even say she wished she was there. She 
brooded over her troubles until her letters 
grew constrained in their tone ; but Louise 
did not appear to notice this, except that her 
letters were more telegraphic than ever. 


294 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


Margy had one distraction in an acquaint- 
ance with the Murrays. Miss Murray had 
taken quite a fancy to her, and often came and 
took her to drive or invited her to their house. 
She grew very friendly with the boys, and 
George undertook to teach her to play tennis ; 
but he had only given her a lesson or two 
before he and Jack went away to join some 
friends on a yachting trip. She enjoyed the 
elegance and luxury very much, but she could 
not help realizing what Louise had said, that 
they were very dull. She often wondered if 
she would have found this out for herself, or 
if the glamor of wealth and beautiful surround- 
ings would have kept her from seeing it. It 
seemed strange that these people she had 
looked up to and been in awe of all her life 
should turn out to be such commonplace 
beings. After an evening spent with them, 
she generally went home more contented, feel- 
ing of how much greater importance personal- 
ity was than possessions. How much more, 
how very much more, she would have enjoyed 
an evening with Louise, Ted, the Hollisters, 
and Miss Harper, if it had been spent in a 
woodshed, with bread and milk^instead of the 
elaborate meal that she had just eaten. Margy 
often tried to write this summer, by way of 


ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 295 

another distraction ; but although she had 
never before felt or thought so much, her lit- 
erary style dissatisfied her so greatly that she 
finally gave up the attempt. Everything she 
wrote seemed to her so crude, and young, and 
newspapery. 

It had been arranged that she was to meet 
Louise and her mother in New York, stay two 
days at their house, and go up to college with 
them. Louise’s greeting was so cordial, and 
she was so like her old self that Margy’s spirits 
went up several degrees, although she could 
not shake off a certain feeling of constraint 
all at once. She did not have a chance for 
any private conversation with her until she 
went to bed the first night of her visit. She 
was standing in front of the dressing-table, all 
dressed, with her Homer open in front of her 
when Louise knocked and came in. 

“ Studying, Margy ? ” she said. “You must 
just stop it. You are not to open another 
book. You will do a great deal better for 
not studying.” Margy obediently closed her 
book. 

“ Well, I sha’n’t win any way, so I don’t sup- 
pose it matters,” she said wearily. 

“ Well, if you want to think that,” Louise 
answered shortly. “ Now, Margy,” she went 


296 AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 

on, “ I want to know what is the matter. I 
have come to find out.” 

“ What is the matter with what ? ” Margy 
asked. 

“You know just as well as I do. What 
have you against me ?” 

“ Against you ? Nothing,” Margy answered 
untruthfully. 

“ I don’t like to appear to doubt your word, 
but I feel that there is something wrong. I 
felt it in your last letters, and I see it in your 
manner. It must be some misunderstanding, 
for I am not conscious of having done any- 
thing.” 

“ You have n’t done a thing,” Margy said 
impatiently. “ It is just that I am tired of 
studying, and of being poor, and of life gen- 
erally. I am glad I am not going to college, 
for you would be ashamed of me there if I 
did. I have n’t a rag fit to wear, and I look 
like a rose of last summer. You haven’t done 
anything, really, Louise.” 

“ I should think you would know me better 
than that by this time. I am sorry, Margy, 
if you think I would be ashamed of a girl I 
deliberately chose for my best, friend just be- 
cause she could n’t afford to dress well. I 
won’t say it does n’t matter what you wear, 


ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 297 

because we both know that it matters tremen- 
dously ; but I will say that it matters less with 
you than with most girls. I know you have 
a great many trials, and some very hard ones ; 
but I don’t think that a girl with your face 
and your mind and imagination has any right 
to be discontented and feel injured : she has 
a great deal more than her fair share. Well, 
if that is all, I ’ll go to bed, for I must n’t keep 
you up, and I ’m dead tired myself. Good 
night, Margy.” 

“ Good night, Louise. I am sorry I have n’t 
made myself more agreeable.” 

After Louise went, Margy continued to 
stand in front of her dressing-table, gazing 
absent-mindedly at the electric light above it, 
until, a few minutes later, a knock came at the 
door and a voice said : 

“It’s Mr. Edward Van Dyke Meredith. 
Are you going to bed ? ” 

“ No : come in,” Margy answered as she 
opened the door for him. 

“ I ’m glad. I wanted to see you. Well, 
old girl, how goes it ? ” he asked, sitting down 
on a corner of the dressing-table. Margy sat 
down in the chair in front of it, turning tow- 
ards him so that she would not face her own 
image in the glass. 


29 8 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


“ Not very well, Ted. I have been getting 
discontented and unhappy and horrid generally. 
Oh dear, I do so want some fun like other 
girls, and I am sure I shall have to go back to 
that pokey old place and vegetate.” 

“ Don’t despair so easily. Give me your 
hand and I will tell your fortune. Ah, this is 
fine ! I don’t know the proper phraseology, 
but in the language of the vulgar, you are go- 
ing to take the cake, in other words, the schol- 
arship, and you are going to do such splendid 
work that we shall all be proud of you ; and 
then you are going to write and make a name 
and fortune for yourself. I foresee myself 
carefully making accidental allusions to my 
cousin Margaret Brooks, — ‘the author, you 
know.’ Maybe Prince Charming will come 
along and maybe he won’t, but you are going 
to be contented and happy in any case, for you 
will have a pursuit that you love. Do you feel 
better ? ” 

“Yes: you always make me feel so. You 
had better look out, or I will bring all my 
troubles to you.” 

“ All right. Bring them along. Suppose 
you begin now. What is the matter with 
Louise ? What has she done or left un- 
done ? ” 


ALL *S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 299 


“ What makes you think there is anything ?” 

“ I know there is. I read your last letters 
to her, and I have noticed how different your 
manner is. You might as well tell me sooner 
as later.” Margy sighed. 

“What a transparent person I must be ! I 
did not mean to make an atom of difference. 
I am ashamed to tell you, Ted, that ’s the truth 
of it.” 

“ You need n’t be. I ’m not such a paragon 
myself.” 

“Well then, the truth is I have been fool- 
ishly, sillily, jealous of Miss Harper. Louise’s 
letters were full of her, and they were such 
stiff, unaffectionate little letters, and made me 
feel that she did n’t like me so well as she used 
to, and to realize my own unimportance, and 
all that sort of thing. And I have thought 
about it until I made myself perfectly wretched. 
What should I do if Louise no longer took 
any interest in me, and how could she help 
preferring Miss Harper? ” 

“ But she does n’t, I am sure, you silly child. 
She has quite a different feeling for her. And 
as for her letters, that is the way she always 
writes. I could show you some to me that are 
just as stiff and indifferent. She just has n’t 
the gift of expressing her feelings, translating 


3 °° 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


herself on to paper. I have known people 
who were just the other way. Take Aunt 
Abby, for instance. You know how stiff and 
reserved she is in everyday life, while she 
writes the most charming, friendly letters. I 
know how disappointing it is. I had a girl 
friend once, not so many years ago, and it was 
always such a blow to get one of her letters. 
I would write her expansively, and she would 
answer stiffly, and she was anything but stiff 
in everyday life. As for Miss Harper, no- 
body who knows her can help admiring and 
liking her, but I am sure Louise’s feeling for 
her would never interfere with her feeling for 
you. You just wait and see if it does.” 

“ Oh dear me, I wish I were n’t made jealous,” 
said Margy. “Are you ever so, Ted?” 

“ Not very often. I ’m not much given that 
way ; but I know enough about it to know 
what it ’s like. You can be very sure of that. 
You are not talking to one who cannot com. 
prehend you.” 

“ I am ashamed of myself,” said Margy, 
“ but when you live in the country and have n’t 
much in your life to interest you, mole-hills 
seem like very big mountains. And then, 
there is something worse. I felt horribly en- 
vious of you all and the good times you were 


ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 301 

having ; but that did n’t make me feel unkindly 
to Louise.” 

“ I should hope not. It ’s hard lines, Mar- 
gy, I know, but just you wait. I am sure you 
will have things like other girls some day. 
Well, I must go. You ought to get all the sleep 
you possibly can to-night and to-morrow night. 
Don’t lie awake and think about your troubles.” 

A few moments later as Margy was undress- 
ing, another knock came at the door and 
Louise came in. She was in her nightgown, 
with bare feet hastily thrust into slippers. 

“You silly thing,” she said, going up to 
Margy and putting her arms around her. 

“ Did Ted tell you ?” Margy asked. 

“ Yes : I sent him in on purpose to find 
out, since you would n’t tell me. I like Dolly 
immensely, Margy, but not the same way I do 
you. She is too much above, ahead of me, in 
every way. We are not on an equality. She 
is kind to me and likes me, but I am too inex- 
perienced for her to make a real friend of me, 
while you and I are just about on the same 
level. And I can’t help my letters. It is al- 
ways so. I might have guessed what was the 
matter. My friends are always thinking I 
have changed, and it is only because I hate 
writing so and can’t say what I think on paper. 


302 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


Dear me, I hope I ’ll never have to write any 
love letters, for I am sure he would break it 
off before I had written him three. It is 
strange I should be such an idiot at it when 
Mother writes so well.” 

“ I ’m sorry,” said Margy. “ I was a perfect 
fool ; but I have always been inclined that 
way, — to be jealous, I mean. I used to be 
frightfully jealous of Edith Sandelin long 
before I had any right to be.” 

“Well, you need n’t be. I like you better 
than any girl I know ! ” 

“Yes, you like me; but — don’t deny this, 
please, for I know it is true — I don’t begin to be 
of the importance to you that you are to me ; 
and it is perfectly natural. You have so much, 
so many people in your life, and I so little. 
But just you wait and see. I will be, some 
day. I ’ll make you so proud of me that I can’t 
help being of importance to you.” 

“You are of importance to me now, Margy,” 
Louise said quietly as she said good-night. 

The girls had a long talk going up to college 
on the train. By the time it was ended, Margy 
felt as if she should never doubt Louise’s 
affection again. When they had finished, she 
asked her about Ted and Miss Harper. 

“ I don’t know a thing,” Louise had answered. 


ALL ' S WELL TEA T ENDS WELL. 303 

“ They were a great deal together ; but then 
she was a great deal with other men, and he 
with other girls. Dolly used often to invite 
me to go to places with them, and Ted never 
seemed to mind especially. Their manner to 
each other was as friendly as possible, really 
intimate when we were alone together, but 
utterly removed from anything sentimental. I 
really don’t know what to think, though I am 
morally certain there is more in it than appears. 
After Ted came up, Dolly sort of dropped 
me for a while, but I did n’t mind because I 
guessed why she did it. She did n’t want it to 
look as if she had made a friend of me because 
I was Ted’s cousin. After Tom and Arthur 
came, however, we were all thrown together a 
great deal.” After this Margy had a hundred 
questions to ask about the Hollisters, an inex- 
haustible subject ; and then the train stopped 
at Poughkeepsie. 

Margy was so nervous that night that she 
hardly slept at all. She and Louise shared 
the same room, and it was only by the utmost 
effort of will that she could keep in one posi- 
tion more than five minutes at a time. Fortu- 
nately nothing ever disturbed Louise. Margy 
got up in the morning absolutely certain that 
this day and the next would be her first and 


304 AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 

last of college life. Louise and Mrs. Meredith 
were to spend the two days before college 
opened in getting Louise’s rooms in order. If 
Margy won, she and Louise were to have a 
parlor with two bedrooms opening out of it ; 
and if she failed, Gertrude Mayne was to take 
her place. Mrs. Meredith had sent up a num- 
ber of things from New York for the rooms, 
but there were still a good many little odds 
and ends to see to. They said as little as 
possible to Margy about the details ; but this 
very silence was an additional reminder of the 
uncertainty. 

She was in a little more hopeful frame of 
mind when Louise came to the examination 
room for her on the evening of the first day. 
The examinations had been very fair, with no 
catch questions in them, nothing that a girl 
who was well prepared anywhere would or 
should not have known. 

“ Yes, I think I did well,” she said slowly, 
in answer to Louise’s questions ; “ but then I 
fancy the Phenom. did well, too. If it were 
only just getting in to be considered, I 
should n’t be at all afraid.” 

“How was the Phenom.?” Louise asked. 
“ I met her in the hall this morning, and she 
gave me the most frigid of bows,” 


ALL 'S WELL THA T ENDS WELL. 305 

** She was very stiff ; but I was determined 
that there should n’t be any noticeable cool- 
ness between us, so I went up to her and 
made her talk to me. I referred quite openly 
to the rivalry between us, and said that I 
thought it was hard that the loss of one should 
be the gain of the other.” 

“ What did she say to that ?” 

“ Oh, the Professor who was to conduct the 
examination came in just then, and she did n’t 
have a chance to say anything if she wanted 

J9 

to. 

“ What did they give you in the Iliad? ” 

“ Oh, Louise, that was the greatest luck ! 
They gave me one of those passages I learned 
by heart because I liked them so much, and 
you girls laughed at me so for learning. Vir- 
tue was its own reward this time. Of course 
I could translate it like a breeze ; ” and then 
Margy went on to give a detailed account of 
the examination. She was a little more hope- 
ful still the next night. English had been one 
of the examinations that day, and she was con- 
scious of having done especially well in it. 

On the morning of the third day she was 
sent for to the President’s office, and told she 
had won the scholarship. To her surprise, 
her first feeling was one of sorrow for the 


3 o6 AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 

Phenom. The next minute, however, she was 
able to rejoice in her own good luck ; for the 
Phenom., so she was told, had been given one 
of the Students Aid Society’s scholarships 
which was unexpectedly vacant. Margy only 
stopped to tell Louise, who was anxiously 
waiting for her in the hall, and to ask her to 
telegraph home for her trunk, before she went 
to look up the Phenom., who had already been 
notified of her defeat. 

“ I am sorry as well as glad, Ella,” she said, 
“ really sorry, and I hope you will believe me. 
I don’t think I could have half enjoyed win- 
ning it if it had not been for your getting the 
other scholarship.” The tears came into her 
eyes as she spoke, and perhaps these softened 
the Phenom., who had looked very forbidding 
at first, for she said kindly : 

“ I never had anything against you, Margy. 
You have always been on the dead square.” 

“And you must n’t have anything against 
Louise, either. See here, Ella, we have all 
three been in a very uncomfortable position 
this last year, and that would n’t let you real- 
ize we felt friendly towards you ; but that is 
all over now, and we can let bygones be by- 
gones. I made up my mind that I would n’t 
feel unkindly towards you if you won, and I 


ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 307 

think I should have kept my word ; and I 
don’t want you to feel unkindly towards Louise 
and me.” 

“ Oh, I ’m not going to. One scholarship 
is as good to me as another. I ’m sorry I 
have had the bother of taking the examina- 
tions twice, though. Still, I am perfectly 
willing to be friends if you are.” 

“I am so glad!” Margy exclaimed. “I 
should hate to know that you had unkind 
feelings about it. Besides, I always think a 
good deal about the looks of things you know, 
and I think it would look small-minded if we 
were n’t on good terms.” She shook hands 
with her, and then went to hear the rest of 
Louise’s raptures, which she had cut short so 
unceremoniously. 

That afternoon Mrs. Meredith sent for a 
carriage and took both the girls out driving, 
— to quiet Margy’s nerves, she said. It did n’t 
have the desired effect, however ; for they 
were so excited and happy that they talked 
incessantly as fast as their tongues could go. 
At last Mrs. Meredith put her fingers in her 
ears. 

“ Girls, do be quiet,” she implored. “ I 
can’t stand another word. I never heard such 
a steady stream, and at the top of your lungs, 


3 o8 AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 

too. Louise, if you don’t learn to lower your 
voice before Christmas, I won’t let you come 
home.” 

“ Chestnuts ! ” Louise exclaimed disrespect- 
fully. “ I have heard ‘ Do lower your voice,’ 
and ‘ I wish you would n’t use so much slang,’ 
until they have no more effect on me than so 
much Hebrew, not so much. Those combina- 
tions of sounds have lost all meaning to me, 
just as we say a common word over and over 
until we don’t see any sense in it.” 

“ I shall have to try something else then ; 
for, I tell you, Louise, I will not put up with 
either much longer. Slang was not so objec- 
tionable when you were a little girl, but I don’t 
like it now. It seems bad form to me. I 
don’t know any girls of your age who use it as 
you do. Even Margy, who has the benefit of 
your bad example, does n’t begin to use so 
much ; and I never hear the Van Horn girls or 
Elsie Livingston use any.” 

“ Oh, the Van Horn girls! ” Louise exclaimed 
contemptuously. “ I can’t say they are on 
their good behavior before you, because they 
were never known to be on anything else. I 
am sorry, Mother, if you would like me to be 
like them in any respect, If they don’t use 
slang, I should think you would want me to 


ALL ’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 309 

use it. You don’t seem to see that the reason 
I use such a lot of it is because I have always 
been so much with Ted and his friends. They 
don’t use it because their brothers and cousins, 
if they had any, would n’t have them around 
at any price, they are such little geese, so silly 
and prudish. And as for Elsie Livingston, I 
should think you would rather I used slang 
than foreign phrases as she does. I think that 
is bad form, if you like. Besides, she does 
lots of worse things than use slang, if you only 
knew about them.” 

“ I am overpowered but not convinced,” 
said Mrs. Meredith, smiling. “You ought to 
be the lawyer of the family, Louise. I only 
know when I hear girls indulge in such very 
free and easy ways of talking and in such an 
elevated tone, I always conclude that they 
come from second-rate people. But I see I 
shall have to try some other plan. I will tell 
you what I will do. If you will cure yourself 
of using slang and of pitching your voice at Q, 
I will give you a pair of ponies and a trap next 
summer.” 

“ Oh ! ” exclaimed Louise ecstatically. 

“ And if Margy will help you by reminding 
you, — it would n’t hurt her to lower her own 
voice a little, by the way, — she shall come and 


3io 


AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 


stay a month with you at Bar Harbor and help 
you drive them.” 

“ We will,” cried both the girls, rapturously. 

“Won’t Miss Humphreys be delighted?” 
said Margy, after they had discussed this de- 
lightful prospect for awhile. “ She had talked 
herself black in the face, — I mean she has 
made frequent remarks about Louise’s and my 
slang, exaggerated ways of speaking, she called 
it ; but it never did an atom of good.” 

“ Another thing that annoyed her,” said 
Louise, “ was that we called Margy ‘ Margy.’ 
She said it was a silly name, and that 
‘ Margaret ’ was beautiful ; and yet she never 
called her ‘ Margaret ’ herself.” 

“ No,” said Margy, “ she said it sounded 
strained when nobody else called me so.” 

“ If she wants you to, why don’t you do it ?” 
asked Mrs. Meredith. “ She has done so much 
for both you girls that you ought to be willing 
to oblige her in a little thing like that.” 

“ Oh, ‘ Margy ’ is so nice and everyday and 
so convenient. Besides, I am so tired of the 
fad of being called by your real name, even if 
it has ten syllables, that I sometimes think 
I ’ll make my friends call me ‘ Lulu.’ I like 
real names much better than abbreviations ; 
but what I don’t like is making a fad of it 


ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 31 1 

That is the only reason I haven’t done it. 
But I will do it, Mother, if you think I ought. 
Margy, Margaret, I mean, would n’t mind. In- 
deed, I think she’d like it.” 

“Yes, I would,” said Margy; “‘Margy’ is a 
little girl name.” 

“ And I ’ll make Gertrude, when she comes, 
and the Phenom. do it too ; and then she can 
start here as ‘ Margaret,’ though I suppose 
she will be ‘ Miss Brooks,’ now she is n’t a 
schoolgirl any longer.” 

“ Is n’t it nice ! ” exclaimed Margy. “ Just 
think, Louise, we are college girls now.” 

“ I feel as big as when I first began to study 
Latin,” said Louise. “ I pretended it was all 
in the day’s work, but all the time I was dread- 
fully stuck up about it, though I suppose 
Mother would object to this method of pre- 
senting my thought.” 

“ I never want you to be stilted, my dear 
daughter.” 

“No, but it’s hard to know just where to 
draw the line.” 

“ I felt bigger when I took up Greek,” said 
Margy, who had been following her own train 
of thought. “ You see I had wanted to study 
it ever since I read Si. Elmo. I thought I 
should like to study Hebrew, too, but I have 


312 AN UNLESSONED GIRL. 

rather got out of that idea. There does n’t 
seem to be anything to read in it, except the 
Bible, after you have learned it.” 

“ I always want to study anything my favor- 
ite heroines study,” said Louise. 

“ So do I ; so if I ever write a book, I am 
going to make my heroine a regular blue 
stocking so as to have a good influence on the 
coming generation.” 

“ You must make her attractive, too,” said 
Louise. 

“ I hope you ’ll have her study Social Science 
and Domestic Economy then,” Mrs. Meredith 
remarked. 

“ She shall study everything, and never for- 
get a thing she has learned. Dear me, how 
clever the coming generation is going to be !” 
They all laughed, and then the carriage drew 
up in front of one of the college buildings. 
They were going to stop and show Margy her 
rooms. Louise would n’t let her go to see 
them before their drive, as a workman was 
putting some finishing touches. It was all a 
complete surprise to her, and she had fresh 
raptures on seeing how beautifully they were 
fitted up. There were no superfluities in them, 
for college maids have little time for dusting 
and college girls have less ; but the necessaries 


ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 313 

were all in exquisite taste. It seemed too 
good to be true that her dream of so long ago 
had actually come to pass, that she was going 
to college in the capacity of Louise Meredith’s 
parlor mate and most intimate friend. She 
admitted to herself that the fitting up of the 
rooms was a great improvement on that she 
had planned in her day-dream. 

When they got back to the hotel, they found 
two telegrams of congratulation for Margy, 
one from her mother and one from Ted, both 
expressing the utmost delight at her success. 
The next morning Mrs. Meredith left them ; 
and after seeing her off, the girls went out to 
the college to begin their four years’ career as 
college girls, and here our story leaves them. 

THE END. 




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